CHAPTER II. NORTHFIELD INVADED.

Abandoning Mankato, the robbers now moved upon Northfield as directly as roads and available stopping-places would permit. Monday night found them in Janesville, eighteen miles east of Mankato; Tuesday night in Cordova, about the same distance north of Janesville; Wednesday night in Millersburg, northeast of Cordova. The rest of the band spent the same Wednesday night in Cannon City. Millersburg is eleven miles west of Northfield, Cannon City ten miles south.

Northfield is a quiet but enterprising little city, in the heart of a rich and well cultivated agricultural region which is tributary to it. It has good railroad facilities; and the Cannon River, flowing through the town, affords power for its mills and adds a picturesque feature to its scenery. A bridge crosses the river in the centre of the town, connecting its eastern and its western divisions, and leading, on the eastern side, into an open [pg 9] space known as Bridge Square, where many of the stores are to be found. On the eastern side of the Square runs Division Street, the principal business street of the city, along the foot of a bluff some fifty feet in height, ascended by various streets, and crowned with residences, churches and educational buildings. Prominent among the public edifices are those of Carleton College, in the northeastern part of the city; while St. Olaf surmounts a high eminence in the northwestern. An observant stranger, entering the city for the first time, could hardly fail to get the impression of intelligence, thrift and commercial enterprise. This was precisely the impression made upon the robbers; and it was this impression which led them to select Northfield as a field of operations.

Ten or twelve days before the final attempt upon the bank, two members of the band had visited the town for a preliminary survey. They conversed with citizens, as their custom was, making inquiries about roads, etc., particularly about the route to Mankato, and awakened the suspicion of at least one or two of the citizens as to the truth of their pretension. They found a bank doing a large business, and presumably carrying a large volume of cash; and they saw the people quiet and industrious, and presumably [pg 10] neither prepared nor disposed to meet force with force. What plans they then formed for the subsequent raid it is impossible to say; but it is certain that they were no sooner foiled in Mankato than they started for Northfield.

As we have already seen, the two divisions of the band spent the night of Wednesday, September 6th, in neighboring villages, within easy reach of their next day's destination. Early on the morning of Thursday, the 7th, they took up their march along the roads converging upon Northfield, meeting in the woods west of the town. In the course of the forenoon, some of them appeared upon the streets and in the stores, where two of them were recognized as the same two that had made the previous visit of inspection already referred to. They all wore linen dusters, a garment much more common with the traveler in those days than in our own, and one that seemed entirely suitable for the sultry weather then prevailing, while it served to conceal the pistols and cartridge-belts, with which the robbers were so liberally supplied. Five of the men dined together at a restaurant on the west side of the river, waiting contentedly for their dinner to be cooked, conversing with the proprietor on politics and other indifferent subjects, and, after they had [pg 11] finished their meal, still delaying unaccountably, probably to give time for the arrival of the rest of their accomplices. Finally they remounted their horses and rode over the bridge.

It is difficult, and, so far as the present writer is concerned, impossible, after the most painstaking study of all available sources of information, to determine the exact order of events at the opening of the attack. No one observer followed all the preliminary movement of the robbers. One person noticed one thing and another another; and each depended more or less upon hearsay for items not within his personal knowledge. The similarity of dress already referred to made it difficult to distinguish the robbers from one another; while the wild excitement which soon ensued gave little opportunity for careful observation. With no attempt to reconcile conflicting statements, therefore, which happily differ only in unimportant details, this narrative will confine itself to those facts upon which all witnesses agree.

The scene of the robbery and the movements of the robbers may be easily understood from the accompanying cut. The center of operations was the Corner of Bridge Square and Division Street. On this corner stood a two-story stone building [pg 12] known as the Scriver Block. Its upper story was used for offices, and was reached by an outside stairway on Division Street. The larger part of the lower story was occupied by two stores, ranging north and south, and having their front entrances on the northern Bridge Square side. At the extreme southern end of the building, and having its entrance on the eastern or Division Street side, was the object of attack, the First National Bank. On the western side of the block ran a narrow alley, affording rear entrances to the stores and the bank. West of the alley, and fronting on the square, were two hardware stores whose respective proprietors were leading actors in the scene that followed,—J. S. Allen and A. R. Manning. On the eastern side of Division Street, opposite the Scriver Block, were a hotel and a number of stores, in front of one of which stood a young man who was also to have a prominent part in the coming affray,—Mr. H. M. Wheeler, then at home on a vacation from his medical studies in Michigan University.

As has been previously stated, the robber band comprised three subdivisions,—the two James brothers, the three Younger brothers, and three odd ones,—Miller, Pitts and Stiles. In their active operations another threefold division was [pg 13 ] adopted, each of the squads containing one of the Younger brothers and one of the odd ones, and two of them containing one of the James brothers. That is there were two trios and one couple. Of these, one trio was detailed to commit the robbery, while the couple cooperated with them on Division Street, and the other trio acted as a rear guard on Bridge Square, the direction in which the band intended to retreat.

It was about 2 o'clock in the afternoon that the first trio, consisting of Pitts, Bob Younger and, it is believed, one of the James brothers, came over the bridge, and crossing the Square from northwest to southeast, dismounted in front of the bank, throwing their bridle reins over some hitching posts beside the street. They then sauntered to the Corner and lounged upon some dry-goods boxes in front of the store (Lee and Hitchcock's) assuming an air of indifference, and whittling the boxes, like the most commonplace loafers. Presently the two horsemen constituting the second detail entered Division Street from the south, and rode toward the bank. They were Cole Younger and Clel Miller. Upon their approach the three men at the corner walked back to the door of the bank and went in. Miller, dismounting in front of the door, left his horse [pg 14] unhitched, went to the door and looked in, and then, closing it, walked back and forth before it. Younger dismounted in the middle of the street, where he made a pretense of tightening his saddle-girth.

By this time the attention of several citizens had been attracted to the maneuvers of the robbers. Word had been brought that nine men on horseback had been seen coming out of the woods southwest of the city; and the presence of so many strange horsemen on the street began to awaken uneasiness. Yet when some expressed these fears, they were laughed at by others, and assured that the men were merely cattle-buyers on a legitimate business tour.

Among those whose suspicions had been especially aroused were Dr. Wheeler and Mr. J. S. Allen, already referred to. Dr. Wheeler was sitting under an awning in front of his father's store on the east side of Division Street when the men entered the street; and as their actions seemed to him to indicate some mischievous intent, he rose and moved along the sidewalk till he was opposite them. Mr. Allen was on the other side of the street; and when he saw the three men enter the bank, he attempted to follow them in. He was instantly seized by Miller, who had been placed [pg 15] there for that purpose, and who, drawing his revolver, and pouring forth a volley of oaths, ordered Allen to stand back, and warned him on peril of his life not to utter a word. Allen jerked away from the ruffian's grasp, and ran back to and around the corner toward his store, shouting in a voice that resounded blocks away, “Get your guns, boys! They're robbing the bank!” At the same time Dr. Wheeler had stepped into the street, and was shouting, “Robbery! Robbery!” his alarm being at once justified and intensified by the round of pistol shots within the bank.

Upon this, Miller and Younger sprang into their saddles, ordering Wheeler back, with oaths and threats, and firing one or two shots over his head, to intimidate him and to give notice to their confederates that their game was discovered. Then the two robbers began riding up and down Division Street, at their utmost speed, shooting right and left, with horrible oaths calling upon every one they saw to “get in”—an order that was obeyed with pretty general promptness and unanimity. At the same time the three men near the bridge took up the same tactics, and came dashing across the Square, shooting and shouting like their comrades, whom they joined on Division Street. Wherever they saw a head, [pg 16] out of doors or at a window, they sent a shower of balls. The air was filled with the sounds of the fray, the incessant bang bang of the heavy revolvers, the whistling of bullets, the crashing of glass and the chorus of wild yells and imprecations. The first intention of the robbers was not to kill anyone, but to strike terror into the mind of the people, and, by driving everybody from the streets, to give the men in the bank time to work, to prevent any attempt at interference, and to secure themselves an unobstructed line of retreat. Strange to say, during this part of the affray, though the robbers kept up a constant fusilade from their revolvers, but one person was shot,—a Scandinavian who could not understand English, and who was fatally wounded while persistently remaining on the street.

CHAPTER III. IN THE BANK.

Meantime, a very different scene was enacted within the bank, where the first trio of robbers were dealing with a trio of bank employes as resolute as themselves. These were Mr. A. E. Bunker, teller, Mr. J. L. Heywood, book-keeper and Mr. F. J. Wilcox, assistant book-keeper. The cashier, Mr. G. M. Phillips, being out of the state, Mr. Heywood was acting cashier. The bank was at the time occupying temporary quarters, not arranged with reference to emergencies of this kind. A counter, constructed somewhat like an ordinary office or store counter, extended across two sides, between the lobby and the interior of the room. This was surmounted for nearly its entire length by a high railing containing glass panels; but in the angle between the two sections of the counter there was an open space, entirely unprotected, wide enough for a man to pass through.

When the three robbers entered the bank the [pg 18] employes were busy at their tasks, and had no suspicion of approaching danger. Mr. Bunker, the teller, hearing footsteps in the lobby, and supposing that some customer had entered, turned from his work to wait upon him, coming to the open space before referred to. There three revolvers were pointing at him, and he was peremptorily ordered to throw up his hands. His first impression was that one of his friends were playing a practical joke upon him. Before he had time to comprehend the situation, the three robbers had climbed over the counter, and covering him and his associates with their revolvers, commanded them to hold up their hands.

“We're going to rob this bank,” said one of the men. “Don't any of you holler. We've got forty men outside.” Then, with a flourish of his revolver, he pointed to Heywood and said, “Are you the cashier?”

“No,”, replied Heywood.

The same question was put to Bunker and to Wilcox, each of whom made the same reply.

“You are the cashier,” said the robber, turning upon Heywood, who was sitting at the cashier's desk, and who appeared to be the oldest of the employes. “Open that safe —— quick, or I'll blow your head off.”

A second robber—Pitts—then ran to the vault and stepped inside, whereupon Heywood, who had risen to his feet, followed him and attempted to close the door. He was instantly dragged back, and the two robbers, thrusting their revolvers in his face, said, “Open that safe, now, or you haven't but a minute to live,” accompanying their threats with oaths.

“There is a time lock on,” Heywood replied, “and it cannot be opened now.”

“That's a lie!” retorted the robbers, again repeatedly demanding, with threats and profanity, that the safe be opened, and dragging Heywood roughly about the room.

Finally, seeming to realize what desperate men he was dealing with, Heywood shouted, “Murder! Murder!” Whereupon one of the robbers struck him a terrible blow on the head with a revolver, felling him to the floor. Pitts then drew a knife from his pocket, and opening it, said, “Let's cut his —— throat,” and made a feint of doing so, inflicting a slight wound on Heywood's neck as he lay helpless upon the floor. The two men then dragged him from where he lay, at the rear of his desk, back to the door of the vault, still demanding that he open the safe. Occasionally also they turned from him to Bunker and [pg 20] Wilcox, pointing their revolvers at them and calling on them to “Unlock that safe.” To this demand the young men answered that they could not unlock the safe. The statement was true, though in a sense quite different from that in which the robbers understood it. The reason that they could not unlock it was that it was unlocked already. The door was closed and the bolts were shot into place, but the combination dial was not turned. This was one of the humors of the situation, but one which those in the secret were not in a position to enjoy. As a last resort for coercing Heywood, who was still lying on the floor, in but a partially conscious condition, Pitts placed his revolver close to Heywood's head and fired. The bullet passed into the vault and through a tin box containing jewelry and papers left by some customer for safe keeping. This was the first shot fired in the bank, and its futility well foretokened the failure of the whole effort.

While Bunker and Wilcox received occasional attention from Heywood's assailants, their special custodian was Bob Younger. As Bunker had his pen in his hand when first ordered to hold up his hands, it remained for a time poised in the air. When he made an effort to lay it down, Younger, noticing the movement, and thinking it an [pg 21] attempt to reach a weapon, sprang at Bunker, and thrusting his revolver into his face, said, “Hear, put up your hands and keep 'em up, or I'll kill you!” Then, to hold his prisoners more completely under his control, he compelled them both to get down on their knees under the counter. All the robbers were very much excited, and increasingly so as they found themselves baffled and resisted. Younger would point his pistol first at one of the young men and then at the other, turning from time to time to search among the papers on the desk, or to open a drawer in quest of valuables.

While still on his knees, Bunker remembered a revolver kept on a shelf under the teller's window, and edged toward the place in hope of reaching it. Turning his head that way while Younger's back was toward him, his movement was instantly detected by Pitts, who leaped before him, and seizing the pistol, put it in his own pocket, remarking, “You needn't try to get hold of that. You couldn't do any thing with that little derringer, anyway.” It is no doubt fortunate that Bunker did not succeed in reaching the weapon, as he would almost certainly have been shot down by the robbers before he could use it. The pistol was found upon Pitts at the time of his capture and death.

Bunker now rose to his feet, intending to make some effort to escape or to give an alarm. As he did so, Younger turned to him and said, “Where's the money outside the safe? Where's the cashier's till?” Bunker showed him a partitioned box on the counter, containing some small change and fractional currency; but did not call his attention to a drawer beneath the counter, containing $3,000 in bills. Again ordering Bunker to get down on his knees and keep his hands up, Younger drew from under his coat a grain-sack, which he began to fill from the box. Presently he turned again to Bunker, and finding him on his feet, he said, with a wicked look and with an outburst of horrible profanity, “There's more money than that out here. Where's that cashier's till? And what in —— are you standing up for? I told you to keep down.” Seizing Bunker, and forcing him to the floor, Younger pressed the muzzle of his revolver against Bunker's temple and said, “Show me where that money is, you —— —— —— or I'll kill you!” Receiving no answer, he left Bunker and renewed his search for the money.

Bunker once more regained his feet, and taking advantage of a moment when the robber's face was turned, he dashed past Wilcox, into and through the directors' room, to the rear door, [pg 23] then closed with blinds fastened on the inside. His intention was to enter the rear of Manning's hardware store, on the other side of the alley, and give the alarm. He knew nothing yet of what was going on in the street, and he believed Heywood to be dead from the effect of the pistol shot apparently aimed at his head.

The first of the robbers to notice the escape was Pitts, whose eyes seemed to be everywhere at once, and who was then with Heywood in front of the vault. Before he had time to shoot, however, Bunker was out of his range around the corner of the vault, and making for the door. With a mad yell Pitts bounded after the fugitive, and coming in sight of him, fired as he ran, the ball whizzing past Bunker's ear and through the blind in front of him. Bunker threw his weight against the blinds, bursting them open, plunged down a flight of outside steps, and had nearly reached the rear entrance of the next building when he was again fired upon by Pitts. This time the ball hit its mark, passing through the right shoulder, near the joint, barely missing the sub-clavian artery, and coming out just below the collar-bone. As he felt the sting and shock of the wound, he stumbled; but keeping his feet, and not knowing how badly he might be wounded, he [pg 24] ran on across a vacant lot and around to a surgeon's office in the next block. Pitts gave up the chase and returned to his companions in the bank, but only to hear one of their confederates on the outside shout, “The game is up! Better get out, boys. They're killing all our men.” Hearing this, the three robbers sprang through the teller's window and rushed into the street. As the last one climbed over the counter, he turned toward poor Heywood, who had gotten upon his feet and was staggering toward his desk, and deliberately shot him through the head. The act was without provocation or excuse, and was afterwards denounced by others of the gang as “a fool act,” though others still made an absurd attempt to justify it on the ground of self-defense. It was a piece of cowardly revenge on the part of a ruffian who was made desperate by defeat, and who, as was evident throughout the entire scene in the bank, was badly under the influence of liquor.

CHAPTER IV. ON THE STREET.

The battle in the street was now at its height, and the spirit in which it was waged on the part of the citizens showed how grossly the robbers had mistaken the mettle of the people with whom they had to deal. The community was taken by surprise and at a great disadvantage. It was at the height of the prairie-chicken season, and a majority of the men who had guns were away in the field. The excellent hunting in the neighborhood had drawn many sportsmen from the larger cities, accustoming the people to the presence of strangers, while they had no reason to expect a hostile invasion. When the mounted bandits on Bridge Square and Division Street began riding and shooting, the first impression was that of surprise. Some thought it the reckless fun of drunken scapegraces. Some took the riders to be the attaches of a traveling show, advertising their performance. When the bullets began to [pg 26] fly about people's ears, and the character of the invaders became evident, every body was stunned and dazed, and there was a general scramble for shelter. But the next moment there was an equally prompt rally of brave men to repel the attack.

Dr. Wheeler, who had been one of the first to give the alarm, and who had been driven from the street by the imprecations and bullets of the robbers, hastened to the drug-store where he usually kept his gun. Remembering as he went that he had left it at the house, he did not slacken his pace, but kept on through the store, heading first for the house of a neighbor, where he hoped a weapon might be found, but on second thought turning into the Dampier Hotel, close at hand, where he remembered to have seen one. There, instead of the fowling-piece he looked for, he found an old army carbine, for which, with the help of Mr. Dampier the clerk, three cartridges were discovered in another part of the house. All this was so quickly done, that he was at a second-story chamber window, with his gun loaded, in time for the beginning of the fight.

Meantime Mr. Allen, who had also sounded so prompt and vigorous an alarm, ran to his store where he had a number of guns, and loading them [pg 27] with such ammunition as came to his hand, gave them to anybody who would take them. One of them was taken by Mr. Elias Stacy, who used it to good purpose in the battle that followed.

As Mr. Allen went to his own store, he had passed that of Mr. Manning, to whom he shouted his warning concerning the robbers. Up to this time Manning had no suspicion of what was going on. One of the robbers had been in the store in the forenoon, looking about and pretending he wanted to buy a gun. He was a genteel, well-dressed fellow, and Manning supposed him to be some stranger who had come to Northfield to hunt; though he did not believe that he wanted any gun, and thought there was something wrong about him. Even when the three horsemen dashed through the Square so noisily and belligerently, he thought little of it. But when he heard Allen's shout, and made out the words “Robbing the Bank,” he recalled what he had seen and the meaning of it all flashed upon his mind. Abruptly leaving the customer he was serving, he rushed for a weapon, thinking hard and fast. Pistols? No, they would be of little account, His shotgun? Yes—No; he had left all his loaded cartridges at home. His breach-loading rifle! That was the thing; and here it was in the window; and there [pg 28] in a pigeon-hole of his desk were the cartridges, where they had been carelessly thrown months before. All this came to him without an instant's loss of time. He forgot nothing and he made no mistakes. Stripping the rifle of its cover, and seizing a handful of cartridges, he hurried to the scene of battle, loading as he ran.

The scene on the street is indescribable. People had not only made haste to get out of the way of the leaden hail-storm that had burst forth, but had also taken measures to protect themselves and their property against the raiders, whose intention was believed to be not only to rob the bank but to pillage the entire town. Stores and offices were hastily closed. The postmaster, Capt. H. S. French, who chanced to have an exceptionally heavy registered mail on hand that day, hastened to lock it in the safe and close the Office. Jewelers and others who had valuable and portable stock pursued a similar course. The news of the invasion, emphasized by the sound of the shooting, spread swiftly through the town. Warning was sent to the public school and to Carleton College to keep the students off the streets. The general impression was that the town was in possession of a horde of robbers, numbering nobody knew how many, and coming [pg 29] nobody knew whence, and bent on ruthless plunder, nobody knew to what extent.

The scene of the actual conflict was that part of Division Street on which the bank faced, and scarcely a full block in length. Here the five mounted robbers went riding back and forth, up one side of the street and down the other, doing their utmost with voice and arms to keep up the reign of terror which they had begun. The citizens whom they had driven in were looking for weapons, and the bolder ones were coming back, some armed and some unarmed, around the margin of the field. Capt. French, having made Uncle Sam's property as secure as possible, stood in front of the locked door, wondering where he could soonest find a gun. Justice Streater and ex policeman Elias Hobbs stepped out into the Square, empty handed but undaunted, and determined to do something by way of resistance to the invasion. A few were so fortunate as to have not only the courage but the means for an armed defence. Mr. Stacy, already referred to, came out with a fowling-piece, and confronting Miller, just as the latter was mounting his horse, fired at his head. The fine bird shot marked the robber's face, and the force of the charge knocked him back from the saddle, but inflicted no serious wound. [pg 30] There was a poetic justice in the incident, as it was Allen, whom Miller had seized and threatened at the bank, who owned and loaded the gun, and sent it out in the hands of his neighbor to draw first blood from the very man that had assaulted its owner.

Later on in the battle Messrs. J. B. Hyde, Ross Phillips and James Gregg also did their best with similar weapons, and it was not their fault that the shotguns they used upon the bandits were inadequate to the occasion. Mr. Hobbs, who had no weapon at all, fell back upon more primitive methods, and at the height of the fray came on shouting, “Stone 'em! Stone 'em!” and suiting the action to the word, and choosing not “smooth stones from the brook,” but big and formidable missiles, more fit for the hand of Goliath than for the sling of David, hurled rocks and curses at the enemy, and not without effect. Col. Streater also joined in this mode of warfare, which, if not the most effective, certainly evinced a high a degree of courage as they could have shown in the the use of the most approved weapon. Other citizens, too, took a hand in the affair, as opportunity offered, and some of them had narrow escape from the bullets with which the robbers responded to their attentions.

But while there was no lack of good intentions on the part of others, it was the two men with rifles, Manning and Wheeler, who were able to do real execution upon the enemy, and finally to put them to rout. We go back, therefore, to the moment when Manning came running from his store with the rifle in his hand. Taking in the situation at a glance, and intent only upon getting at the robbers, he stepped out into the open street, and amid a shower of bullets, coolly looked for his game. Before him stood the horses of the men who were still in the bank, and over the heads of the horses he saw the heads of two men, upon whom he instantly drew a bead. The men ducked behind the horse, whereupon Manning, without lowering his gun, changed his aim and shot the nearest horse, rightly judging that this would cripple the band almost as effectually as shooting the men. He then dropped back around the corner to reload; but finding to his chagrin that the breach-lever would not throw out the empty shell, he was obliged to go back to the store and get a ramrod with which to dislodge it, thus losing valuable time. The interruption proved a good thing for him, however, moderating his excitement and rashness, and preparing him to do better execution. Soon he was at the [pg 32] corner again. Peering around the corner, he saw one of the robbers between the horses and the bank door, and fired at him. The ball grazed the edge of a post, deflecting it slightly; but it found Cole Younger, wounding him in a vulnerable though not vital place. Again Manning dropped back to reload. The shell gave him no trouble this time, and he was quickly at his post once more. As he looked cautiously around the corner, he saw Stiles sitting on his horse, some seventy-five or eighty yards away, apparently doing sentry duly in that part of the street. Manning took deliberate aim at him—so deliberate as to excite the impatience and call forth the protests of some who were near him—and fired, shooting the man through the heart. Manning, as before, stepped back to reload, the robber fell from his saddle, dead, and the horse ran to a livery-stable around the corner.

While these things were going on, Dr. Wheeler was not idle. His first shot was at the head of Jim Younger, who was riding by. The gun carried high, and the ball struck the ground beyond him. Younger looked first at the spot where it struck, and then turned to see where it came from, but did not discover the sharp-shooter at the window above him. Wheeler's next shot [pg 33] was at Clel Miller, whom Stacy had already peppered with bird-shot. The bullet passed through his body almost precisely as Pitts' bullet had passed through Bunker's; but in this case the great artery was severed and almost instant death ensued. Wheeler's third and last cartridge had fallen upon the floor, bursting the paper of which it was made, and spilling the powder. Hurrying in search of more, he met his friend Dampier coming with a fresh supply.

The robbers were now badly demoralized. Their shooting had been wild and fruitless. They had lost two men and a horse killed; a third man was wounded; two riderless horses had escaped from them, and an armed force had cut off their proposed line of retreat. It was at this juncture that Cole Younger rode to the door of the bank and shouted to the men inside to come out, which they made all haste to do. Two of the men mounted their horses, which still stood before the door. There was no horse for Bob Younger, and he was compelled to fight on foot.

By this time Manning and Wheeler had both reloaded, and returned to their places. As Manning showed himself, ready to renew the battle, Bob Younger came running toward him down the sidewalk. Manning raised his rifle to shoot at the [pg 34] approaching robber, and at the same instant Younger drew his revolver to shoot Manning. In the effort to get out of each other's range, Younger dodged under the outside stairway of the Scriver Block, while Manning stood at the corner beyond it. The stairs were thus between them, and neither of them could get a shot at the other without exposing himself to the fire of his adversary. For a time they kept up a game of hide and seek, each trying in vain to catch the other off his guard and get the first shot. At this point Wheeler, though he could but imperfectly see Younger's body beneath the stair, took a shot at him. The ball struck the robber's elbow, shattering the bone. He then coolly changed his pistol to his left hand and continued his efforts to shoot Manning.

It then occurred to Manning that by running around through the store he might reach the street on the other side of the robber, and so drive him from his hiding-place. This plan he instantly put in execution. At the same moment Wheeler was engaged in reloading his gun. But the robbers had their plans, too, and took advantage of this momentary lull to make their escape. Bob Younger sprang from his hiding-place and ran up Division street, where he mounted behind his [pg 35] brother Cole; and the entire band,—or at least what was left of it, turned and fled. Wheeler returned to his window and Manning emerged upon the sidewalk only to find that their game had flown. Even then there was an excellent chance for long-range shooting; but the intervening distance was immediately filled with people, making it impossible to shoot without endangering innocent lives.

This battle between desperados and peaceful citizens has well been cited as proof that the prowess, courage and dead-shot skill at arms commonly ascribed to the border ruffian are largely imaginary. On the one side was a band of heavily armed and thoroughly trained and organized banditti, carrying out a carefully made plan, in their own line of business, after weeks of preparation. On the other side was a quiet, law-abiding community, unused to scenes of violence, taken utterly by surprise and at a fearful disadvantage, with no adequate means of defence except two long-disused rifles in out-of-the-way places, and one of them on the retired army list. Yet the banditti were beaten at their own game, and their courage lasted only while the odds were in their favor. As to marksmanship, they were vastly outdone by their citizen opponents. [pg 36] Excepting the cold-blooded murder of a defenceless spectator, they did not in the entire fight fire one effective shot. It is said that at least thirty shots were fired at Manning alone; yet he escaped without a scratch.

In the bank, heroism of another order had displayed itself. Without the excitement of open battle, or the stimulus of numbers, and without the slightest means or opportunity for defence, the three unarmed young men balked the three armed ruffians who held them in their power, meeting threats and violence with passive resistance, and in the face of death itself refusing to yield one jot to the demands of their assailants.

The brunt of this unequal contest fell upon poor Heywood. How he met it has been already related. Threatened, assaulted, dragged about, brutally struck down, menaced with the knife, ostensibly shot at, he could not be persuaded or bullied into surrendering his trust or becoming the accomplice of robbers. It is interesting to know that before this ordeal came to him he had been led to ask himself what he would do in such an emergency, and had made up his mind that he would under no circumstances give up the property of his employers. His steadfast resistance to the robbers' demands, therefore, was not due [pg 37] to a hesitating policy, or to the mere obstinate impulse of the moment, but was the result of a deliberate purpose and conviction of duty. The fatal cost of his fidelity was something which he could not have failed to take account of all along, as the most probable end of a struggle with such desperate men as he was dealing with. At a time when we hear so often that persons in similar circumstances have been compelled to unlock vaults or to open safes at the dictation of robbers, there is a wholesome tonic in the example of a man who proved that there is not in the whole world of criminal force a power that can overcome one brave man who chooses at all hazards to do his duty.

CHAPTER V. AFTER THE BATTLE.

The battle was over. So swift had been its movement, so rapidly had its events followed one another, that it was done before people beyond its immediate vicinity knew that it had begun. From its opening to its closing shot it had occupied but seven minutes. But it had been as decisive as it was brief. The object of the attack had failed. The funds of the bank were intact. Six of the robbers were in flight, two of them wounded. In front of the bank lay the dead horse, the first victim of the fight. Near by was the body of Clel Miller, and a half-block away, on the other side of the street, that of Stiles. Of the three deaths, that of the horse alone moved the pity of the spectators. On every hand were shattered windows, the work of the vicious revolvers; while hitching-posts, doors, window-frames and store-fronts were scored with bullets. Heywood lay on the bank-floor, where he had [pg 39] fallen at the post of duty. Bunker was in the hands of the surgeons. All the bells of the town had been set ringing. People came hurrying to the scene from every direction. Excited preparations were making to pursue the escaping robbers.

The scenes that followed showed that there were heroines as well as heroes in the community. While the first wild rumors of the affair were rife, and it was believed that scores of marauders had invaded the town, and that general pillage might be expected, ladies went to the public school and to the girls' dormitory of Carleton College, to give warning of the impending danger. One of the teachers in the public school was the wife of Mr. Bunker, the wounded teller. From different sources she received information first that he was wounded and then that he was killed. Crediting the least alarming statement, she first made arrangements for the care of her pupils, and then started to find her husband. Fortunately she met a friend with a carriage, who took her to the doctor's office where Mr. Bunker was receiving surgical care. Mrs. Heywood's first intimation of her husband's death was received by accident, and in a painfully abrupt manner. Being at her house on the west side of the river, at a considerable [pg 40] distance from the scene of the tragedy, she chanced to hear one neighbor shout the news to another across the street. President Strong of Carleton College had already started at the request of friends, to break the intelligence to her, when he learned that his errand was needless. The body was placed in a carriage and supported in the arms of President Strong, while it was driven to the Heywood residence. Mrs. Heywood showed herself worthy to be the wife of such a man. She bore the awful blow with the greatest calmness; and when she heard how he met his death, she said, “I would not have had him do otherwise.”

The dead robbers received attentions of quite another sort. The two bodies were placed in an empty granary, where they remained during the night. The news of the raid had been telegraphed all over the country; and the evening trains brought crowds of curious people, eager to see and hear everything pertaining to the affair. The next day the number of visitors was so largely increased and the desire to see the dead bandits was so great, that the bodies were brought out into the open square, which was soon packed with people. Among the visitors from other town were sheriffs, police officers and private citizens who had come to join in the pursuit of the escaped robbers.

That afternoon the county coroner, Dr. Waugh of Faribault, held an inquest on the three bodies, and a verdict was found according to the facts: “That J. L. Heywood came to his death by a pistol-shot fired by an unknown man who was attempting to rob the First National Bank of Northfield;” “That the two unknown men came to their death by the discharge of firearms in the hands of our citizen in self-defence, and in protecting the property of the First National Bank of Northfield.”

The grief and indignation over the death of Mr. Heywood were intense. He was a man greatly respected in the community, was prominent in church and business life, and at the time of his death was the City Treasurer and also the Treasurer of Carleton College. On Sunday, the 10th of September, two funeral services in honor of the murdered man were held in Northfield. In the morning came the public service in High-School Hall, the largest auditorium in the city. The place was packed, notwithstanding the excessive rain and mud then prevailing. The introductory exercises were conducted by the Rev. Messrs. Gossard and Utter, the pastors of the Methodist and the Baptist churches, and the funeral address was [pg 42] delivered by the Rev. D. L. Leonard, pastor of the Congregational Church, the regular church services of the day being omitted. The admirable address of Mr. Leonard has been preserved in a neat pamphlet, entitled, “Funeral Discourse on Joseph Lee Heywood,” published by Johnson and Smith, Minneapolis, and is a valuable contribution to the literature of this subject. As much of its biographical and historical matter is substantially covered by the present narrative, it need not be reproduced; but some extracts relating to Mr. Heywood's personal character may properly be quoted, as showing the estimation in which he was held by one who not only knew him well, but was voicing the sentiments of the community to which and for which he spoke.

“Mr. Heywood was, beyond most men, modest and timid. He shrank from the public gaze; and, considering his high gifts and his standing in the community, he was retiring almost to a fault. He set a low estimate upon himself. He would not own to himself, did not even seem to know, that he was lovable and well-beloved. He courted no praise and sought no reward. Honors must come to him unsought if they came at all. He would be easily content to toil on, out of sight and with service unrecognized, but in every [pg 43] transaction he must be conscientious through and through, and do each hour to the full the duties of the hour”.

“Yes, something such a one as this walked our streets, worshipped in our assemblies, and bore his share of our public burdens, for ten years. And so dull is human appreciation, that had he ended his days after the ordinary fashion of humanity, it is to be feared his worth had never been widely known. But not so now, since, as I may almost say, in the sight of thousands he has been translated that he should not see death, and was caught up from earth to heaven as in a chariot of fire. Surely we cannot forget that spectacle to our dying day. The glory of his departure will cast back a halo of glory over all his career. We shall re-read the record, as he made it, with sharpened vision. Besides, some of the virtues in which he excelled, such as integrity, moral courage, steadfastness in pursuing the right, in the tragic circumstances attending the close of his life, found their supreme test not only, but their sublime climax as well. The charm lies in the perfect harmony existing between the acts of the last hour and the conduct of all the life that went before.”

“For, for what, I pray you, was man made but to do his duty? to be brave and true, reckless of results? And what is life worth, I wonder, if to be preserved only at the price of cowardice and faithlessness?…Surely to him that is gone life as the purchase of dishonor would have been an intolerable burden…Whoso consents to stand on duty, in the army, on the railway train, in the banking-house or store, must do it with open eyes, ready to take the consequences, fully determined, whatever befall, to play the man.…When so many are corrupt and venal, are base and criminal in the discharge of public duties, the spectacle of such a life as we have looked upon is worth far more to society than we can well reckon up. And if, as a result of last Thursday's events, those just entering upon life, and we all, shall be warned of the evil and curse of transgression, and be reminded of the surpassing beauty of honor and faithfulness, and in addition shall catch an enthusiasm of integrity, it will go no small [pg 45] way to compensate for the terrible shock that came to this city, and for the agony that has fallen upon so many hearts…We know today that public and private worth are still extant, and that the old cardinal virtues are still held in honor. We need no lantern to find a man.”

In the afternoon President Strong, assisted by other clergymen, conducted the funeral service proper at Mr. Heywood's late residence, and paid an equally cordial testimony to the character of the man and to the high quality of heroism which he had displayed. Dr. Strong was able to speak from the point of view of personal friendship and from that of official relation, having been Mr. Heywood's pastor at Faribault in former years, and having been more recently associated with him in connection with the College. It was in a casual conversation which they had held but a few days before the tragedy that Mr. Heywood dropped the remark which showed that he had already decided how he would meet such an ordeal if it ever came to him. The President had been inspecting the new time lock which had just been placed upon the door of the vault. The circumstance recalled to his mind the famous St. Albans bank-raid, which had especially interested him [pg 46] through his personal acquaintance with the victimized cashier. Having spoken of the course pursued by the raiders in that case, he said, in mere playfulness, to Mr. Heywood, “Now if robbers should come in here and order you to open this vault, would you do it?” With a quiet smile, and in his own modest way, Mr. Heywood answered, “I think not.” Neither of them dreamed how soon and with what tragical emphasis he would be called to test that resolution.

Mr. Heywood was buried in the Northfield cemetery, at the southern extremity of the city, where his remains still rest and where an unpretentious monument marks his grave.

In an obscure corner of the same cemetery, at night, with neither mourner nor funeral rites, two boxes were buried, supposed to contain the bodies of the dead robbers. No one took the trouble to ascertain the genuineness of the proceeding, or to guard the grave from desecration. That the bodies of criminals belong to anatomical science, is a prevalent opinion. That these criminals were not too good for such a purpose, was readily conceded. That they somehow found their way to a certain medical college, and that one of them was subsequently rescued from its fate by friends, are said to be facts of history.

CHAPTER VII. A FAMOUS VICTORY

Thursdays were notable days in the robber calendar. On Thursday, September 7th, the attack upon the bank was made. On Thursday, the 14th, the trail of the main band was found and lost in the Minnesota valley beyond Mankato; and on the evening of that day the two horsemen went off on their tangent, drawing almost the entire force of the pursuer after them. On Thursday, the 21st, the public was again electrified by the news that the remaining four, who had also been supposed to have escaped, were yet in the state and had been located in the neighborhood of Madelia.

Madelia is a small village in Watonwan County, and on the Watonwan River, about 24 miles southwest of Mankato. One of the principal features of the surrounding country is a chain of picturesque lakes lying a few miles north of the town; while about five miles southwest of the [pg 63] lakes ran the north fork of the Watonwan River, destined to be as famous in the closing scenes of the raid as the Cannon had been at its beginning.

Madelia was one of the towns visited by the robbers in their preliminary survey. About two weeks before the robbery, Cole Younger and one other of the band spent a Sunday at the Flanders House in that place. They asked many questions of the landlord, Col. Vought, and excited some curiosity in the community. Younger expressed his admiration of the adjacent lake region, with whose geography he seemed to have made himself familiar. When the bank-raid occurred, a few days later, Col. Vought immediately understood who his guests had been, and did not doubt that Younger's interest in the topography of the neighborhood had reference to a line of retreat. And when guards were being placed throughout the region to intercept the robbers in their flight, Col. Vought advised guarding a certain bridge between two of these lakes, at a point of which Younger had made special mention, and by which any one acquainted with the region would be sure to pass. This counsel was followed, and Col. Vought himself, with two others, guarded the bridge for two nights.

A few rods from this bridge lived a Norwegian [pg 64] farmer named Suborn, with his wife and his son Oscar, an intelligent and active lad about seventeen years of age. As the men kept watch at the bridge in the evening, Oscar would come down and sit with them, talking of the robbers and the robbery, and forming in his mind a pretty distinct idea of the appearance and the tactics of the outlaws. He repeatedly expressed the wish that he might meet them and have a shot at them with his father's old gun. When the band was supposed to have escaped, and the guards were withdrawn, Col. Vought charged Oscar to keep a sharp lookout, and if he saw any fellows that he thought might be the robbers, to come into Madelia and tell the Colonel. This the boy promised to do.

On the morning of September 21st, while Oscar and his father were milking the cows, two men walked by, bidding Oscar a civil good morning as they passed. Something in their appearance instantly convinced the boy that they were the bandits; and he ran to his father and said, “There goes the robbers.” His father scouted the idea, and bade him go on with his milking. But the conviction grew upon the boy as he milked, and he soon set down his pail and ran to look after the men, making inquiries of the neighbors and freely expressing his views concerning them. [pg 65] When he returned to the house, he learned that the men he had seen and two others had been there asking for food, and saying that they were fishermen. Oscar insisted that they were the robbers, and after many objections on his father's part, finally got permission to take a horse and go and tell people what he had seen.

He instantly started for Madelia, seven or eight miles away, urging the old farmhorse to the top of his speed, and shouting to every body he passed “Look out! The robbers are about!” but finding nobody to believe him. A short distance from Madelia the horse fell down, throwing the excited rider into the mud; but he was soon up and a way again faster than ever.

Entering Madelia, he rode straight to the Flanders House, according to his promise to Col. Vought. The latter was standing on the porch of the hotel when the messenger dashed up, boy and horse equally out of breath and both of them covered with mud. A few questions sufficed to convince the Colonel that the boy knew what he was talking about, and he immediately siezed his gun, mounted his horse, and started for the Suborn farm. Sheriff Glispin had come up during the conversation with Oscar, and also joined in the chase. Dr. Overholt, W. R. Estes and S. J. [pg 66] Severson did the same. These five went in company. C. A. Pomeroy heard the news and hastened after them. G. A. Bradford and Capt. W. W. Murphy followed hard, and reached the field in time for effective service. From St. James, a neighboring town, to which the telegraph had carried the news, came G. S. Thompson and B. M. Rice, most of their neighbors being too incredulous or too indifferent to join them. In the immediate vicinity of the robbers all was excitement, and people were gathering in greater and greater numbers as the facts became known.

The first detachment from Madelia had no difficulty in learning where the robbers were, and lost no time in reaching the locality. The band was soon descried, making its way on foot through what is known as Hanska Slough. Sheriff Glispin called upon them to halt; and as they paid no attention to his demand, he and his men fired upon them.

The robbers ran until they were out of sight behind a knoll, and before their pursuers came up with them had crossed Lake Hanska, a considerable body of water. The Madelia men, finding some difficulty in getting their horses through the water, separated, part of them going up stream and part down, in search of crossings. Reaching [pg 67] the other side, Col. Vought and Dr. Overholt again caught sight of the robbers, and the Doctor fired at them, with so good an aim as to hit the stick with which Cole Younger was walking. Sheriff Glispin and his two companions now came up from the other direction. Seeing that the robbers were making for a herd of horse on an adjacent farm, the Madelia men intercepted the movement, and for their pains received a volley from the enemy's revolvers, the bullets flying thick about the heads of the pursuers, though at pretty long range, and one of them grazing Glispin's horse.

Thus foiled, the bandits went down to the river-bank, opposite the house of Andrew Anderson, and telling him that they were in pursuit of the bank-robbers, ordered him to bring his horses over to them. The old ruse did not work. Instead of putting his horses at the service of the band, the shrewd farmer ran them off in the opposite direction. Foiled again, the men went up the river to a ford, crossed over, and came down through the Anderson farm to a granary, where they seemed about to make a stand; but changing their plan, they made one more effort to supply themselves with horses. Mr. Horace Thompson and his son, of St. Paul, were hunting [pg 68] in the neighborhood, and had two livery teams belonging to Col. Vought, of Madelia. Spying these horses, the robbers made a rush for them, but the Thompsons promptly exchanged their light charges for wire cartridges loaded with goose shot, and prepared to give the free-booters a warm reception. The free-booters did not care to risk the encounter, and turning back, took refuge in the brush in the river-bottom. Mr. Thompson proposed to some of those present to go in after them and hunt them out; but the armed force then present was not thought to be strong enough for such a movement.

The robbers were now hemmed in upon all sides. On the south was a high bluff, curving slightly outward to enclose the low bottom-land at its base. On the north was the Watonwan River, washing the bluff on the left, then swinging away from it in a double curve, and then back toward the bluff again. A rude triangle was thus enclosed, some five acres in extent, nearly level, open in some places, but for the most part covered with an almost impenetrable growth of willows, box-elders, wild plums and grapevines.

The robbers having been driven to cover in these thickets, the next effort was to prevent their escape. A considerable number of people had by [pg 69] this time collected, some on one side at the river and some on the other. Glispin and Vought went down to the lower end of the ravine and posted guards on the bluffs to watch that point. Meantime Capt. Murphy had arrived, and at once took similar precautions on the other side of the river. But they had no intention of waiting for the robbers to come out, or to give them a chance to escape, as they had so often done, under cover of darkness. Capt. Murphy, having made his picketline secure on the north side of the river, came around to the south side, where some of his Madelia neighbors and other resolute men were gathered, and proposed that they go into the brush and rout out the bandits. A number seemed willing to join him in this attempt; but the list was much reduced when they heard his startling instructions as to the method of procedure. Moreover some of the best men on the ground had been assigned to guard duty, and were not available for this service. In a few minutes, however, six brave fellows stood by his side, ready to go wherever he would lead them.

The roll of this Spartan band of seven is as follows: Capt. W. W. Murphy, Sheriff James Glispin, Col. T. L. Vought, B. M. Rice, G. A. Bradford, C. A. Pomeroy, S. J. Severson. Capt. Murphy formed his men in line, four paces [pg 70] apart, ordering them to advance rapidly but in line, to keep their arms ready, observe the front well, and the instant the bandits were discovered concentrate the fire of the whole line upon them.

They advanced promptly across the eastern side of the triangle, from the bluff to the river, and then, turning to the left, followed the river's course, with the line at right angles with it. They had advanced some fifty or sixty yards in this direction, when they discovered the robbers, crouching and almost concealed in a thicket of vine-covered willows and plumtrees. At the same instant one of the robbers fired. It was the signal for a general fusilade on both sides. Firing was rapid and at close range, the two forces being not more than thirty feet apart at the center of the line, and all heavily armed. The battle was sharp but brief. Again, as in the Northfield fight, the palm of marksmanship was with the citizens and not with the professional crack-shots. Mr. Bradford had his wrist grazed by a ball as he raised his rifle for his first shot. Another ball grazed Mr. Severson. Another still struck Capt. Murphy in the side, and glancing on a brier-root pipe in his pocket, lodged in his pistol-belt. With these exceptions not a man in the party was touched. Of the robbers, on the other hand, Bob Younger was wounded in the breast; his brother James had five wounds; [pg 71] Cole had eleven, and Pitts was dead, having been hit five times. When Capt. Murphy ordered firing to cease, and called upon the robbers to surrender, Bob Younger was the only one who could respond. “I surrender,” said he, “They are all down but me.” As he rose to his feet, at the command of his captors, the movement was not understood by the guards on the bluff, and they fired at him, wounding him slightly; but Capt. Murphy immediately checked the untimely attack.

The arms of the robbers were taken from them, and they were placed in a wagon and taken to Madelia in the custody of the sheriff, escorted by their captors as body-guard, and by a miscellaneous company of those who had been directly or indirectly connected with the engagement. A mile from town they met another company of people who had come by special train from other towns where the news of the reappearance of the robbers had been received. The visitors found themselves too late to take part in the capture, the honor of which belonged solely to local heroes; but they could join in the general rejoicing and help to swell the triumphal procession. As the returning throng entered Madelia, it was received with great demonstrations of joy, to which the wounded bandits responded by waving their hats.

CHAPTER VIII. THE END OF A BAD ENTERPRISE

The chagrin and exasperation which followed the escape of the two Jameses were changed to exultation over the victory in the Watonwan bottom,—a victory well worthy to close the campaign so bravely begun in the streets of Northfield. Whatever blunders had been made, whatever hardships and disappointments had been endured, the final result was fairly satisfactory. Of the eight desperados who rode forth so confidently on their career of plunder, three were dead, three were prisoners, and the other two were in ignominious retreat—one of them wounded. They had wasted a month in fruitless effort, lost their splendid horses and equipment, spent much money and gained none, suffered unutterable hardship, and achieved nothing but two brutal and profitless murders.

Arrived in Madelia, the captured men were taken to the Flanders House, where Cole Younger [pg 73] and his now dead comrade Pitts, had played the role of gentlemen travelers a month before. Younger had recognized Col. Vought and saluted him as “landlord” when they met as captor and captive on the bloody field of the Watonwan. He also recognized Mr. G. S. Thompson, who was doing guard duty at the time of the capture, and reminded him of a visit which Pitts and himself had made to Thompson's store in St. James during the same preliminary tour.

The Flanders House was made for the time being a hospital and a prison. Guards were posted within and without, and every precaution was taken to prevent either the escape of the prisoners or any unlawful attack upon them. The men were wet, weakened by fatigue and exposure, nearly famished and shockingly wounded. They received such attention as humanity dictated. Their wounds were dressed; their wet garments were exchanged for dry ones; their hunger was appeased and they were placed in comfortable beds.

They appreciated this treatment most gratefully. They had hardly expected less than being lynched or torn in pieces by the infuriated people; and they repeatedly expressed their admiration both of the bravery of their captors and of the [pg 74] magnanimity of those who had them so absolutely at their mercy. It was indeed rumored that a train-load of lynchers was on the way, bent on summary vengeance; but the officers of the law and the people of Madelia were prepared to resist such an attempt to the utmost, and it never was made.

Sight-seers and lion-hunters came by hundreds, from every direction. On the day following the capture the hotel was besieged by an eager throng, that filled its halls and corridors and the adjacent street, and kept a continuous stream of visitor filing through the room where the robbers were confined. Reporters, photographers and detectives were there, each intent on his own professional ends; and every type of sentiment was represented, from open vindictiveness to morbid sympathy and admiration for criminal audacity.

The prisoners talked freely on certain subjects, and with shrewd reserve upon others. They claimed to be the victims of circumstances, rather than of their own inclinations. They talked pathetically of their family and their antecedents, advised young men to shun bad ways, and requested the prayers of pious women. Being allowed an opportunity to confer together, they agreed to admit their own identity, but refused to [pg 75] divulge that of their companions, either the dead or the living. They denied that the two who escaped were the James brothers, but would give no further information concerning them. The work of identification was effected, however, without their aid. Chief of Police McDonough, of St. Louis, and other officers and citizens, were able of their own knowledge, with the aid of collateral testimony and of rogues-gallery pictures, to identify the two killed at Northfield as Clel Miller and Bill Stiles, and the one killed in the capture as Charley Pitts, alias George Wells. Little doubt was entertained, also, that the ones who escaped were Jesse and Frank James, who about that time reappeared in their old haunts in Missouri.

On Saturday, September 23d, the prisoners were delivered to Sheriff Barton of Rice County, by whom they were taken to Faribault and safely lodged in the county jail, a few miles from the scene of their crime.

Here, again, they were visited by multitudes of people of all sorts and conditions, and received many attentions, pleasant and unpleasant, as the reward of bad notoriety. Here also they were menaced with a threatened lynching, this time a dead-in-earnest affair, prevented only by the vigilance and determination of the officers of the law, [pg 76] aided by the citizens of Faribault. So strongly was the jail guarded, and so strict was the discipline maintained in its defence, that when a member of the city police one night approached the guard, making some motion that was deemed suspicious, and imprudently neglecting to respond to the challenge of the guard, he was fired upon and killed.

The 9th of November, just nine weeks after the attack upon the Northfield bank, was another fateful Thursday in the robber calendar. On that day they were arraigned for trial before the Rice County District Court, at Faribault, Judge Samuel Lord presiding, and G. N. Baxter, Esq., being the prosecuting officer. On the previous day the sister and the aunt of the three prisoners had arrived, to attend them during the ordeal. The refinement and respectability of these ladies served to emphasize yet more strongly the social standing from which the men had fallen and the needlessness of the disgrace which they had brought upon themselves and their friends.

The arraignment presented one of the most dramatic scenes in connection with the crime. The prisoners, in expectation of the summons, had prepared themselves to make the best possible appearance in public. The three were shackled [pg 77] together, Cole in the middle, with Bob on the right and Jim on the left. The sheriff, chief of police and his lieutenant walked by their side, an armed guard marched before them and another behind them. The robbers somewhat distrusted the temper of the crowd that filled the streets; and there were some mutterings of a threatening nature, but no overt acts of hostility. At the court-house the guard opened to the right and left, to admit the sheriff and his prisoners and prevent the entrance of improper persons.

Four indictments had been found against the prisoners by the Grand Jury. The first charged them with being accessory to the murder of Heywood; the second with attacking Bunker with intent to do great bodily harm; the third with robbing the First National Bank of Northfield. The fourth charged Cole Younger as principal, and his brothers as accessories, with the murder of Nicholas Gustavson, the Swede whom the robbers shot for remaining on the street when ordered to leave. These indictments having been read, the prisoners were, at the request of their counsel, allowed two days to decide how they would plead. It was a question of peculiar difficulty. On the one hand, to plead guilty was to renounce all hope of eluding justice through the loopholes of legal technicality. On [pg 78] the other hand, to plead not guilty was to ensure the severest penalty in case of conviction. For the laws of Minnesota were then such that if a murderer pleaded guilty, capital punishment could not be inflicted upon him. This law, designed to prevent long and needless trials in a certain class of case, afforded these criminals an advantage which the public bitterly begrudged them, but of which, in view of the practical certainty of conviction, they decided to avail themselves.

Accordingly, being again arraigned in court, on the following Saturday, they pleaded guilty to all the indictments. Whereupon Judge Lord pronounced upon them the severest penalty then allowed by the law,—imprisonment for life.

A few days later, Sheriff Barton, with the aid of a strong guard, conducted the robbers to Stillwater; and the State Prison, the goal of so many a criminal career, closed its doors upon them. Though commonly regarded as but the second-best place for them, it has thus far safely held them, except in the case of one of them, whose sentence had expired under the great Statute of Limitation. Robert died in prison, September 16th, 1889. Many attempts have been made to secure pardons for the others; but thus far no governor has been found willing to accede to such a request.

CHAPTER IX. THE ROLL OF HONOR.

No extended biographical notices are compatible with either the purpose or the limits of this book; nor is a large amount of such matter desirable. The deeds that have been recounted speak for themselves and the men who performed them. Yet many readers will doubtless desire to know something more of the personality of those men, of their antecedents and their subsequent career. The brief sketches which follow relate solely to those who were actively connected with the three most important scenes in the narrative,—the struggle in the bank, the fight on the street, and the capture of the four robbers near Madelia.