CHAPTER 7
It was coming winter. Sunday hunts, always successful, for there was no
game law, rotated with fishing at the boat landing, always returning
with all one could carry,---and it did not take more than three or four
24 to 30 inch pike to make a load; once the cashier pulled up one which
measured 32 inches. On return from one of these fishing expeditions,
meant a feast at the Lakeside with May as the hostess. But Mudge had
little time for pleasure; with office work increasing constantly; the
trips to the fort and the growing trade with the natives, rides to the
back-lands to buy cattle; buying and shipping game and fish, from the
Indians who brought both in great quantities as the fall weather made
it possible to send it to market, then at St. Paul. The fine lake fish
were brought in frozen, and piled in the ware-room like cord-wood when,
as soon as a carload accumulated, they were loaded in box-cars and sent
to market. This was the practice with venison brought in sled loads by
both white hunters and by the "breeds" and Indians. Once while the
ware-house was piled high with frozen deer carcasses, it became
suddenly warm from a Chinook which lasted two days; behold the whole
stack melted down to half its cold-storage size; the box-car waiting to
be loaded, was released, and the stable-men and teams with sleds,
hauled the hundreds of wilted bodies to the lake-side and dumped them
on the ice, which soon thereafter melted away and made for them a
watery sepulcher,---hides and all.
A
fate less deplorable, happened to a car of fish which Mudge had shipped
out in time for the holiday trade in Minneapolis. When no remittance
came for the shipment, he traced the car in an effort to learn what had
come of it; the reports showed that the car went to its destination,
but was empty when the consignee went to open it. The trainmen had
helped themselves all along the way.
For more than forty miles
the winter winds swept the ice-bound lake, from Minnewaukan to Creel's
Bay, at the point of which was the steamboat landing to which was tied
up and crudely sheltered, the Minnie H. and Rock Island,
pets of the old Scotch captain. Scattered about on the surface of the
six-mile-long bay, little shelters of brush supporting an old gunny
sack, behind which, sat an old squaw patiently fishing through a hole
cut in the ice. Too cold for a man, white or red, but an Indian woman
would suffer any hardship to obtain food for her children. But
bone-picking season was over, and these starving people had no other
way to live! It was heart-rending to see a mother fight with the hogs
to recover from them, the offal from the slaughter-house, when the boys
went to the corral to kill a beef and dress it for use in the market;
so cold it was necessary for them to have a fire in order to work, yet
this poor woman struggled---to great disadvantage through the barb-wire
fence to secure part of the entrails to feed her shivering children who
stood in the snow waiting; these and countless other similar cases
Mudge saw but was helpless to prevent, beyond trifling gifts, he was
sometimes able to bestow on half-wild and fear-stricken suffering
children.
The infantry and cavalry, soldiers, troopers, their
horses, and the officers, lived in luxury at the fort,---held there to
keep in subjection these starving and helpless native Americans! Five
years later, the army turned their Hotchkiss machine guns on Big Foot's
band which had tried to satisfy their hunger by leaving the reservation
to hunt, but were trailed down and forced to surrender; while gathered
together in the process of giving up their arms, two hundred and sixty
were shot down and their bodies left to lie in the snow---men, women
with babes in their arms, lay in piles for two days, in 20 below zero
weather; when the soldiers began to gather the bodies for burial in the
long trench, in tearing apart the frozen forms to load them in the army
wagons, two babes were found still alive; they had been closely held in
the arms of the mothers under the blankets which had been drawn, Indian
fashion, about the head and shoulders for protection against the bitter
cold. The machine-gun bullets that pierced the mothers' breasts, by
chance, had missed the tiny infants,---one of which lived but a short
time; the other lived to womanhood. Instead of a disgraceful massacre,
the white man's record tell of the "Battle of Wounded Knee."
Dave
Roberts had lately come from the lumber woods of Minnesota and was put
on duty at the stables. He seemed to be a single man but no one was
subjected to telling of family affairs when negotiating for a job; it
was enough to know that he could work at it,---and there were no
unions. Dave knew horses; he also knew how to drink liquor without
being troublesome from it, so, to him was given the duty of the care of
the saddle-and-driving ponies; included was making the trips with double
team and cutter, to the fort, when occasion required, and to ranches
and farms for cattle-buying, when the boss or the office called for his
services. Settled winter meant that the Creel's Bay section of the lake
froze solid to the bottom, while far out in the main body, it was not
known how thick the ice might be for no bottom had yet been
discovered---for which reason, the Indians called it Minnewaukan, bad
spirit, or Devil's Lake. Canoes and rowboats seldom ventured far from
shore, and when storms arose, no craft could navigate its angry waters,
and when frozen up for the long winters, the trail, over the ice was
dangerous for travel because of sudden blizzards and the frequent and
terrifying ice-quakes. On one of his return trips to the fort, Dave was
driving his blanketed ponies at a lively clip, in the darkness, when
one of these quakes let loose with a roar like a front-line barrage of
16-inch guns, just ahead, and too late to prevent his team dropping
into the yawning crevasse; but the end of the sleigh-tongue caught on
the opposite lip, leaving the ponies dangling in the harness below; he
was five miles from shore and it was 30 degrees below. How Dave
succeeded in getting his struggling team out of it, no one will ever
know, but good leather harness, and his strength and knowledge of
horseflesh, managed to save the little bays; though badly lacerated,
they were able to limp along and he brought the wreckage through to the
stable and soon got them back to their usual health and service. When
Dave came in for his next pay he told Mudge that he had to buy several
bottles of liniment for the ponies; his memorandum however, showed
three bottles of whiskey, which was okayed without comment, and
Dave. with a grin, went back to work.
Thereafter, it was against
the rules for any one person to go alone in driving across the lake,
but an emergency came on Mudge's day for collecting at the fort; all
the stablemen were engaged in other trips or were sick, and a single
driving mare, warmly blanketed and hitched to the sleigh, with plenty
of robes, was brought to the office for Mudge. It was only 32 degrees
below, and with buffalo overcoat, sealskin cap and gauntlets, he
stepped into the sleeping bag and was off; the trail had been repaired
after recent 'quakes', and the trip was wholly enjoyable on the way
over. But on the return in late evening, while at a fast trot, one of
those awful explosions occurred less than a rod behind the cutter. A
second spelled the difference between safety and probable death. On
another occasion, while headed for the fort, with May, for a sleigh
ride, one of the unwelcome roars was heard some distance ahead, and a
delightful evening was spoiled for Mudge.
On New Year's eve
there was to be held a big celebration at the emporium, a large frame
structure, used at times for a skating rink, and sometimes for farm
machinery exhibits; it stood a block from the business street in the
northwest section; it had been planned for weeks, and everybody was
going---except Billy Osburn. Billy had been turned down by May, and he
dressed in his buckskin outfit and started out to have a celebration all
of his own; if May would not go with him to the dance, he would not go
at all---he'd have one of his own. Mudge was late from the office;
nearly everyone had gone and, being very cold, the streets were
deserted when he entered the Lakeside to wait for a certain party to
complete her toilet; he sat down beside the stove to warm himself in
the few moments that might pass while waiting for a certain party to
dress and come down stairs, but hardly had he been seated, when sounds
of five revolver shots came through the thin partition at his side.
Hurriedly Mudge stepped to the next door, which was Boeing &
Doyle's saloon; inside was filled with smoke, and the form of Billy
Osburn could be seen going toward the back door; at the right of the
front door was the slumped body of Pat McSweeny partly supported by an
empty beer case which had been placed in the corner of the room
opposite the piano; the bartender was not on duty just then, at least
not in sight. After a hasty survey, Mudge turned to go to the hotel to
explain,---and to find help to care for Pat. He never got beyond the
saloon door, for as he opened it to leave, the sheriff was in the act
of entering; Mudge told him what had happened, and instantly, the
sheriff deputized him to stand guard at the door, and if he got sight
of Billy, to shoot him. It was some time before the sheriff could get a
posse from the dance-hall and place them as a cordon around the block
in an effort to capture the murderer, who was supposed to be hiding
somewhere in the rear of the saloon, or in adjoining buildings or
outbuildings facing the alley. Meantime Mudge admitted the doctor and a
few responsible citizens to do the needful with regard to the limp form
in the corner. Pat was dead. They placed pokertables in line and
stretched the body on them, then from the back-bar some table-covers
were brought out and they covered the handsome face, and the stained
bullet marks in the white shirt front, from view.
From the visit
of Sheriff Wagness to the dance-hall, it was but a few minutes until
the whole crowd learned of the killing of the popular night policeman;
the big New Year's party was broken up before it was well started; men
took their ladies home and hurried to help in the hunt for the killer.
While the deputies searched every nook and corner in the square,
expecting every moment to get him; alive if possible but dead, if he
showed resistance; all had orders to shoot to kill. As the crowd
increased around Mudge's guarded door at the scene of the murder, yells
were heard from a few demanding the forming of a lynching party to hang
Billy to a telegraph pole, where one could be found at the railroad
station. It was a wild night in the little frontier town; every man
waited, and wanted to have hold of the rope which would launch Billy
into the beyond over the cross-arm,---but Billy was not forthcoming to
the expectant mob.
Unearthly screams were heard and Mudge
stepped to the corner where a view of the side street could be had;
there a block away, was the form of a woman racing toward him,
screaming as she ran; she had on a flimsy house dress and her hair
steamed out in the bitter wind, like some hideous witch chased by the
devil. It was Maggie; she had heard of Pat's killing; without wraps she
had ran, in her house-slippers all the way from their house two blocks
away, uttering most doleful wails at every step.
It was a trying
experience for Mudge as he saw her coming near to him, for he could
look in on the outstretched, sheet-covered body of her Pat who had left
her but a little while ago for his nightly beat. It was 32 degrees
below zero! Maggie would be frozen,---perhaps already her ears, feet
and hands were frozen beyond remedy; Mudge acted. He must not let her
see the dead man where he now lay, and he must protect her from the
terrible cold which threatened her very life. Instantly, he shed his
buffalo-hide overcoat, held it open before him, and as Maggie reached
the corner, he threw it around her and held her fast until others could
be got to carry her into a nearby home and care for her.
This
incident served to increase the fury of the mob, for Billy was still
undiscovered. An hour had passed, and two hours told that the search
had been fruitless. Then reports came that Billy was safe in the new
steel-lined cell at the county jail; the mob started for it prepared to
storm the place and drag out the culprit by main force, and to hold
their lynching party. On arrival at the frame courthouse, and jail in
its basement, the mob was met by armed guards, a ring of whom were
stationed around the lot, legally deputized to protect the property and
prisoner; and they were their own neighbors and friends, so the members
of the lynching party learned on meeting up with them, as they listened
to the story of what had happened.
While the search was being
made in the square under the supervision of Sheriff Wagness,
night-watchman Ed Pierce slipped away alone to carry on his own
investigation; he found Billy at the top of the stairway at Alice
Gray's, with two guns for use when the mob came for him. Ed called to
him to put up his six-shooters and come with him at once; he explained
to him that a lynching party was sure to get him if he delayed the
chance to reach the steel cell, and together they would go around the
west side and reach the jail before they would be discovered. Alice
took the guns from him; he preferred jail to hanging.
It was
near daylight when the lynching-party disbanded, and there were threats
and rumblings of a mob jail-attack for several days. Fearing another
outbreak and the storming of the prison's single protected cell, the
judge ordered Billy transferred to Grand Forks jail as a precautionary
measure; there to remain until his trial. Armed deputies got him safely
to the train, where the sheriff and other guards saw him to his
destination.
When word came that Billy had been found and placed
in jail, the First Deputy was relieved from his post at the front door.
In the meantime, May, with the help of friends and neighbors, had
procured warm clothing and wraps for Maggie, and taken her back to
their home; while this was being done, "Doc" Smith came to the scene
driving a one-horse outfit from the stable; the boys had been out with
a small delivery sleigh, and had not removed the bells from their
harness, so poor Pat's body was carried out and placed in the cutter,
which being too short to hold his six feet two stature, his legs
projected out over the edge of the sleigh-body as "Doc" drove away to
Hurst's undertaker-shop with bells jingling, as if to ring out the old
year.
There was no regular burying ground yet, and it was
decided by Maggie, May and their friends, to bury Pat in the
home-grounds just beside the new house so recently occupied. The town,
and many from the surrounding country, came to the ceremonies,---very
simple and very solemn. Alice Gray came,---and she wept, along with
many others, as she saw the victim of her reckless paramour lowered in
his grave. Mudge was an important witness when it came to tracing out
the facts and circumstances surrounding the murder. Added up, it was
very simple; Billy had started out to have some fun; he was alone as he
left his own saloon to visit the others along the street, each one in
turn. As nearly everyone in town had gone, or was on the way, to the
New Year's eve dance, the saloons had the sole bartenders on duty.
In
one or two of them small parties of poker players were in a rear room;
in one, the violin and piano players were making the usual circus
music. Here, he whipped out his .44 and placed a couple of shots near
to the feet of the fiddler with the remark: "Y'u can't play, see 'f y'u
c'n dance,"---and then he shot the neck off a whiskey bottle which
stood on the back-bar, put down his gun, took out his wallet and paid
for it, ordered the drinks for everybody in the place, and went on to
the next saloon. He stepped to the bar of Boeing's place and was
chatting with the white-aproned steward who was alone in the place; he
had not been drinking sufficient to show, nor did he order a drink
here, but while leaning on the bar talking, Pat came in, walked to the
side of Billy saluting him with a cheery "Hello." Billy pulled out his
gun and with a sweep toward Pat's face said: "Come up here, Y'u Irish
son of a bitch, and have a drink with me." Pat, to ward off a possible
scratch from the swinging gun, raised his arm, laughingly in assuming
an attitude of defense; the upstroke of Pat's right arm unbalanced
Billy, and in an effort to steady himself his gun-arm slid along the
bar; coming to the end his support gave way and he fell to the floor,
with the gun arm under; then rolling off the pinioned gun and the hand
in which he held it, he began shooting; the first missed and went into
the ceiling over Pat's head; the others were effective, with one
directly through the heart, and Pat staggered backward until he came to
the beer case in the corner where Mudge found his body in a
half-sitting posture a few seconds later.
May and Maggie were
alone; in their bereavement, places were changed; May became the
chaperone of the stricken Maggie, and her behavior all through the
tragedy, proved that she had the love and admiration of everyone in
town,---and Mudge was proud to be one of them.
Then, just as he
was about to be serious with May, Mudge's mail brought a New Year
greeting card which was bound in delicate silk and on its inside page
was a touching reminder of days before a certain young lady went to the
seminary town to live, and which postmark its envelope bore. It was the
first and only acknowledgement of an unanswered letter written months
before; it picked on the heart-strings as a Dixie darky does on his
banjo while humming Suwanee River, but Mudge was learning on the
frontier and must not give way to sentimental thoughts. But in writing
to acknowledge receipt of the greeting card, all this was forgotten;
the brave resolves melted to a flimsy dream as he wrote page on page,
closing with: "Yours always."
The rest of the winter passed;
January saw 48 degrees below Fahrenheit as its coldest, but the
temperature ruled at 20 to 30 below, and there was little that one
could do for pleasure except to drive out in the sleigh for a short
journey on the ice or along the beaten trails; there were no theatres,
nor hunting and fishing, so an occasional visit to church on Sunday,
followed by a Dutch lunch with beer and a poker game with two-bit
limit, in the evening. No Indians in camp; no covered wagons and train
loads of emigrants coming,---it was a rather drab existence for the
young fellows,---waiting for spring to come.
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