The confederates of Ives spared no efforts, while his trial was in progress, to save him. When intimidation failed, they appealed to sympathy; and when that proved unavailing, it was their intention, by a desperate onslaught at the last moment, to attempt a forcible rescue. They were deterred from this by the rapid clicking of the gun-locks at the moment of the execution. All through the weary hours of the trial, their hopes were encouraged with the belief that Plummer, their chief, would come, and demand the custody of Ives; and if refused, obtain it by a writ of habeas corpus, in the name of the civil authorities of the Territory. But if he obeyed the summons of Clubfoot George, which is at best problematical, he acted no conspicuous part. A saloon-keeper by the name of Clinton was very positive that he saw him drink at his bar a few moments before the execution, and that he immediately went out to lead the “forlorn hope” of the roughs. Some other person was probably mistaken for the robber chief, as he was not recognized by any others of the crowd present at the time. In fact he had enough to do to make provision for his own safety; for Rumor, with her thousand tongues, had carried the intelligence of the arrest of Ives to Bannack, before the arrival there of Clubfoot George. He found the people wild with excitement over a version of the arrest, which Plummer himself had already circulated, coupled with a statement that a Vigilance Committee had been formed at Virginia City, a number of the best citizens hanged, and that from three hundred to five hundred armed men were on the march to Bannack, with the intention of hanging him, Ned Ray, Buck Stinson, George Crisman, A. J. McDonald, Thomas Pitt, and others. This anticipatory announcement was made with the hope that by mingling the respectable names of Crisman, McDonald, and Pitt, with those of Stinson, Ray, and his own, he might divert, or at least divide, the attention which would otherwise inculpate only the real villains. It produced a momentary sensation, but failed of effect.

George Ives was no common desperado. Born of respectable parents, he was reared at Ives’s Grove, Racine County, Wisconsin. The foreground of his life was blameless; and it was not until he came to the West that he developed into the moral monster we have seen. His career as a miner in California, in 1857–58, though wild and reckless, was unstained by crime. No accusation of dishonesty was made against him, until after his employment as a herder of government mules belonging to the military post at Walla Walla, in Washington Territory. The heavy storms of that latitude, often destructive to herds in the mountains, afforded him opportunity from time to time, by reporting the fatality to the herd in his charge greater than it was, to obtain for himself quite a large number of animals. The deception was not discovered until after his departure. He was by turns a gambler and a rowdy in all the mining settlements on Salmon River. His downward course, once commenced, was very rapid. On one occasion he surprised the man who had employed him as a herder, by riding into a saloon kept by him at Elk City. After the man had seized the horse by the bridle, Ives drew and cocked his pistol to shoot him, but was prevented by a fortunate recognition of his old employer. He apologized, and withdrew; and on several occasions afterwards, proffered him the gray horse he rode as a present, which the gentleman, convinced that Ives had stolen the animal, as often declined to accept. He was only twenty-seven years of age at the close of his bloody career in Montana. His appearance was prepossessing. In stature nearly six feet, with light complexion, neatly shaven face, and lively blue eyes, no one would ever have suspected him of dishonesty, much less of murder, and cold-blooded heartlessness. And yet, probably, few men of his age had ever been guilty of so many fiendish crimes.

George Hilderman was fortunate in being put upon trial immediately after the execution of Ives. Ten days later he would have been hanged upon the same evidence. It was proved that he knew of the murder of Tiebalt, and of the murder of the unknown man near Cold Spring ranche, neither of which he had divulged. He had even concealed the stolen mules, and knew the persons engaged in the stage robberies, and was found guilty upon general principles, but recommended to mercy. Upon being informed of the verdict, he dropped upon his knees, and exclaimed,

“My God! is it so!”

He then made a statement confirming all that Long John had testified to concerning Ives.

The people commiserated his hapless condition. He was an old man, weak, somewhat imbecile. They concluded that his silence had been enforced by the threats of Ives and his associates, and that, as there was no proof implicating him directly with robbery or murder, they would sentence him to banishment from the Territory. Ten days were given him in which to leave. Glad to escape with his life, he applied to Plummer for assistance. Plummer advised him to remain; but the old man took wiser counsel from his fears. He decided to go. Plummer gave him a pony and provisions, and he left Montana forever.

Hilderman was possessed of a coarse humor, which he had lost no opportunity to demonstrate, while a sojourner at Bannack. It made him quite a favorite with the miners, until they became suspicious of his villainous propensities. He was also a notorious “bummer,” and was oftener indebted to his humor, which was always at command, than his pocket, which was generally empty, for something to eat. In width, his mouth was a deformity, and the double row of huge teeth firmly set in his strong jaws gave to his countenance an animal expression truly repulsive. He was the original of the story of “The Great American Pie-biter.” This feat of spreading his jaws so as to bite through seven of Kustar’s dried-apple pies, had been frequently performed by him, in satisfaction of the wager he was ever on hand to make of his ability to do it. On one occasion, however, he was destined to be defeated. A miner, who had been victimized by him, arranged with Kustar, the proprietor of the Bannack Bakery, to have two of the pies inserted in the pile without removing the tin plates in which they had been baked, the edges of which were concealed by the overlapping crusts. Hilderman approached the pile, and spreading his enormous mouth, soon spanned it with his teeth. The crunch which followed, arrested by the metal, was unsuccessful. He could not understand it, but, despite the vice-like pressure, the jaws would not close. The trick not being discovered, he paid the wager, declaring that Kustar made the toughest pie-crust he had ever met with.

Long John purchased his freedom by his testimony, and nothing appearing against “Tex” at the time, he also was released.

The execution of Ives had a terrifying effect upon the ruffian horde, though a few of them put a bold face upon the matter and were as loud in their threats as ever. The prominent actors in that drama were singled out for slaughter, but no serious instance of personal assault occurred. The ruffians felt secure, as long as they were unknown, and the only revelation yet made was insufficient to implicate any of them with the numerous murders and robberies that had been committed. Facts had appeared upon the trial, making it probable that Carter was accessory to the murder of Tiebalt. The assassination of Dillingham was unavenged. Either of these causes, in the excited state of the public mind, was sufficient to remind the people that the work they had to perform was but just begun. If what they had done was right, it would be wrong to permit others equally guilty to escape. Carter, Stinson, and Lyons must be punished.

This spontaneity of thought brought a few of the citizens of Virginia and Nevada into consultation the day following the execution; and before the close of the succeeding day, a league was entered into, in which all classes of the community united, for the punishment of crime and the protection of the people. Before the organization of this committee was completed, a fresh impulse was given to the public indignation on receipt of intelligence that Lloyd Magruder, a merchant of Elk City, and the independent Democratic candidate for Congress, who had been trading in Virginia City during the fall, had, while on his return to his home, with four others, been cruelly murdered and robbed by a number of the gang, in the Bitter Root Mountains. Full particulars of this terrible tragedy will be given in the two following chapters.

Magruder was very popular with the people of Virginia City. The committee went to work immediately. Twenty-four of them, well mounted, and provisioned for a long ride, started in pursuit of Carter. That villain, accompanied by William Bunton, Graves, and several others, in anticipation of arrest, left as soon as the trial of Ives was over, for the west side of the range. The pursuers followed on his trail as rapidly as possible, into the Deer Lodge Valley. While riding down the valley, the vanguard of the scouts met Erastus Yager, who from the redness of his hair and whiskers was familiarly called “Red.” He informed them that Carter and his companions were lying drunk at Cottonwood (since Deer Lodge City), and that they avowed themselves good for at least thirty of any men that might be sent to arrest them.

The party had suffered severely from the wintry blasts and storms, especially while crossing the divide; and they were glad that both strategy and comfort favored their detention for the next twenty hours at the ranche of John Smith, seventeen miles above Cottonwood. At three o’clock in the afternoon of the next day, they left for Cottonwood, expecting to surprise and capture the fugitive without difficulty. How great was their disappointment, to find that both he and his companions had fled. A distant camp-fire in the mountains at a later hour convinced them that further pursuit at that time would end in failure. They learned upon inquiry that the ruffians had received a message from Virginia City, warning them of the approach of the Vigilantes. And this intelligence was afterwards confirmed by a letter which was found at their camping ground, the writing of which was recognized as that of one George Brown, who was supposed to belong to the gang. It afterwards transpired that “Red,” or Yager, was the messenger who brought this letter, and that he had killed two horses on the expedition. Disappointed in the object of their search, the scouts now determined to return by way of Beaverhead Rock, and, if possible, arrest both Brown and “Red” for their criminal interference.

Their sufferings from exposure to the keen December storms were intense. Arriving at Beaverhead, they camped in the willows, without shelter or fire, except such as could be enkindled with green willows. Some of their animals strayed to a caÑon to escape the severity of the storm. After remaining in camp at this place for two days, they ascertained that “Red” was at Rattlesnake, twenty miles distant. A small party of volunteers started immediately to arrest him, while the others, en route to Virginia City, stopped at Dempsey’s to await their return.

At Stone’s ranche the pursuers obtained fresh horses from the stage stock of Oliver & Co., and resumed their dismal journey to Rattlesnake. The weather was intensely cold, but this offered no impediment to the pursuit of their journey. Arriving at Rattlesnake, they surrounded the ranche, while one of their number entered. Stinson and Ray, both present, had in their capacity as deputies of Plummer arrested a man, whom they held in custody. Stinson, who disliked his visitor, confronted him with his revolver; but seeing a like implement already in the hands of the scout, who “had the drop” on him, he returned his weapon to its sheath.

“I have come to arrest ‘Red’ for horse-stealing,” said the scout.

On hearing this, Stinson and Ray released their prisoner, on his promise to go immediately to Bannack and surrender himself. The man started forthwith to comply with his promise.

Meantime the scout joined his party outside, and they all rode hurriedly to a wakiup a few hundred yards up the creek, which they surrounded while the leader entered, observing as he did so,

“It’s a mighty cold night. Won’t you let a fellow warm himself?” Advancing towards the fire, his eyes fell upon “Red.” Raising his revolver, he said, “You’re the man I’m looking for. Come with me.”

“Red” asked no questions, and exhibited no terror. Putting on his hat, and gathering his blankets under his arm, he did as he was ordered, with as much apparent nonchalance as if he were going on a holiday excursion. When told that he would be taken to Virginia City, he simply manifested by a glance that he fully comprehended the situation, and acted in all respects, while a prisoner, as one who knew his doom was irrevocable. The scouts took him to the ranche, where they passed the night.

They left early the next morning; “Red” unarmed, on his own horse, and riding beside one of the scouts. The dreary ride through snow and wind was enlivened by the stumbling mule of the leader, which on one occasion rolled over, and after safely depositing its rider, made two or three somersaults down a steep bank, plunging headlong into a snowdrift at the bottom, which completely enveloped him.

At Dempsey’s the captors joined the main party. Fatigued with the journey through the drifts, they took supper, provided for the security of their prisoner, and enjoyed a night’s repose. Brown, the man who had written the warning missive to Carter, was the bar-keeper, and a sort of general factotum of the ranche. He had been for some time suspected as a petty thief and robber, without the courage needful to engage in graver offences. The Vigilantes saw that he was terrified, as soon as they arrived, though unconscious of the evidence they had obtained against him.

In the morning the captain of the Vigilantes, in a private interview with “Red,” charged him with being connected with the robber horde. “Red” denied all knowledge of its existence.

“Why, then,” inquired the captain, “should you have been at such pains to apprise the rascals that the Vigilantes were on their track?”

“It was the most natural thing in the world,” “Red” replied. “I stopped here on my way to Deer Lodge, and Brown, on being told of my destination, asked me to take a letter to Alex Carter and some friends. I knew no reason why I should refuse, and did so.”

Brown was then called in, and “Red” repeated the statement in his presence. Brown did not deny it, but betrayed by his blanched cheeks and trembling limbs that it was true. The captain, laying his hand upon his shoulder, and looking him steadily in the eye, said,

“Brown, you must consider yourself under arrest; we will at once proceed to a full investigation of this matter. It looks very dark for you.”

He was put under guard, to await the termination of the trial of “Red,” which was at once commenced. When this was over, Brown was subjected to a second examination before the entire company.

“Did you write this letter of warning?” inquired the captain.

“I did,” replied Brown.

“Why?”

“‘Red’ came to Dempsey’s and said he was going to see the boys, and asked me if I had any word to send them, offering to carry it for me. I wrote them that the Vigilantes were after them, and advised them to leave.”

No other explanation was given; and on their own confessions, and some additional proof showing that “Red” had made inconsistent statements to different persons belonging to the Vigilantes, while passing them on his return from Cottonwood, with a view to deceive them as to the whereabouts of Carter,—the company withdrew to the Stinking Water bridge, to decide upon the guilt or innocence of the prisoners.

“Boys,” said the captain, addressing the assemblage, “you have heard what these men have had to say for themselves. I want you to vote according to your consciences. If you think they ought to suffer punishment, say so; if you think they ought to go free, vote for it. Be very careful to do the right thing for yourselves, as well as for the prisoners. All those in favor of hanging them, step to the right side of the bridge; and those who are for letting them go, to the left side.”

So thoroughly convinced were the men of the guilt and complicity of the prisoners with the road-agent gang, that every man passed immediately to the right.

The culprits started immediately, under the escort of seven men and a leader, in the direction of Virginia City. Two hours afterwards they arrived at Lorrain’s ranche, where they were joined at sundown by the other members of the company, who, after a brief consultation, rode on to Virginia City. After they had gone, the leader lay down in his blanket on the parlor floor, to snatch a few hours of repose. Precisely at ten o’clock, he was awakened by a slight shake, and the words,

“The hour has arrived. We mean business, and are waiting for you.”

He arose and went to the bar-room, where Brown and “Red” lay in the corner asleep. “Red” was the first to awaken. Rising to his feet, he addressed the leader in a sad and despondent tone.

“You have treated me like a gentleman,” said he. “I know that my time has come. I am going to be hanged.”

“That’s pretty rough, ‘Red’” interjected the leader.

“Yes. It’s pretty rough, but I merited it years ago. What I want to say is, that I know all about this gang. There are men in it who deserve death more than I do; but I should die happy, if I could see them hanged, or know it would be done. I don’t say this to get off. I don’t want to get off.”

“It will be better for you, ‘Red,’” said the Vigilantes, “at this time to give us all the information in your possession, if only for the sake of your kind. Times have been very hard. Men have been shot down in broad daylight, not alone for money, or even hatred, but for mere luck and sport, and this must have a stop put to it.”

“I agree to it all,” replied “Red.” “No poor country was ever cursed with a more bloodthirsty or meaner pack of villains than this,—and I know them all.”

On being urged by the leader to furnish their names, which he said should be taken down, “Red” told him that Henry Plummer was chief of the band; Bill Bunton, stool pigeon and second in command; George Brown, secretary; Sam Bunton, roadster; Cyrus Skinner, fence, spy, and roadster; George Shears, horse-thief and roadster; Frank Parish, horse-thief and roadster; Hayes Lyons, telegraph man and roadster; Bill Hunter, telegraph man and roadster; Ned Ray, council-room keeper at Bannack City; George Ives, Stephen Marshland, Dutch John (Wagner), Alex Carter, Whiskey Bill (Graves), Johnny Cooper, Buck Stinson, Mexican Frank, Bob Zachary, Boone Helm, Clubfoot George (Lane), Billy Terwiliger, Gad Moore, roadsters.

These men were bound by an oath to be true to each other, and were required to perform such services as came within the defined meaning of their separate positions in the band. The penalty of disobedience was death. If any of them, under any circumstances, divulged any of the secrets or guilty purposes of the band, he was to be followed and shot down at sight. The same doom was prescribed for any outsiders who attempted an exposure of their criminal designs, or arrested any of them for the commission of crime. Their great object was declared to be plunder, in all cases, without taking life if possible; but if murder was necessary, it was to be committed. Their password was “Innocent.” Their neckties were fastened with a sailor’s knot, and they wore mustaches and chin whiskers. He was himself a member of the band, but not a murderer.

Among other disclosures, “Red” attributed his hapless condition to Bill Hunter, at whose instigation, years before, he had entered upon a career of infamy. He hoped the committee would not spare him. He gave the particulars of the robberies of the coaches, and the names of all engaged in this as well as many other crimes.

After listening to this frightful narrative, and making such memoranda as they might need for future operations, the little party of Vigilantes carefully reconsidered the vote they had taken, and decided that the two culprits should be executed immediately. In the course of the narrative, “Red” had fully implicated Brown. In the Indian campaign in Minnesota in 1862, Brown was a scout for Gen. William R. Marshall (brother-in-law of the writer), who regarded him as not a notoriously bad man, but as one who had little moral principle or force of character, and who was easily influenced by his associates.

Less than a quarter of a mile distant, in rear of Lorrain’s, on a beautiful curve of the Pas-sam-a-ri, stood several majestic cottonwoods, by far the finest trees in all that region. Two, which stood side by side, were selected as the scaffolds. It was a dim starlit night, and a lantern was necessary to complete the preparations for the execution. The cold blast from the immediate mountains howled fearfully as the little procession tramped through the snow, with their prisoners in charge, to the fatal spot. The night was not darker than the gloom which had settled upon the minds and hearts of these condemned wretches. “Red,” however, was perfectly collected. Not a sigh escaped him, nor a tear dimmed his eyes. Brown was all excitement. He begged piteously for mercy, and prayed for his Indian wife and family. They were in Minnesota. “Red,” more affected by the terror and moans of his comrade than his own hapless condition, said to him in a sad but firm tone,

“Brown, if you had thought of this three years ago, you wouldn’t be here now, or give the boys this trouble.”

A few branches were clipped from a lower limb of each of the trees, and the ropes suspended. Two stools brought from the ranche, by being placed one upon the other, served the purpose of a drop. A Vigilante, while adjusting the noose to the neck of Brown, stumbled, and both he and Brown fell together into the snow. Recovering himself, he said, by way of apology,

“We must do better than that, Brown.”

It was a chance remark, proceeding from a motive which it failed to express; better interpreted by those who heard it, than I fear it will be by my readers.

When all was ready, Brown, with the petition upon his lips, “God Almighty save my soul,” was launched from the platform, and died without a struggle.

“Red” witnessed the scene unmoved. When his turn came, and he stood upon the frail trestle, he looked calmly around upon his executioners.

“I knew,” said he, “that I should be followed and hanged, when I met the party in Deer Lodge Valley; but I wish you would chain me, and not hang me until after I have seen those punished who are guiltier than I.”

Just before he fell, he shook hands with all, and then turning to the Vigilante who had escorted him to Lorrain’s, he said,

“Let me beg of you to follow and punish the rest of this infernal gang.”

“‘Red,’” replied the man, “we will do it, if there’s any such thing in the book.”

“Good-bye, boys,” said “Red,” “you’re on a good undertaking. God bless you.”

The stools fell, and the body of the intrepid freebooter swung lifeless in the midnight blast.