Great American Adventure Stories

by Tom McCarthy

  As soon as the fellow was securely locked in, Gen. Cook sent for Mrs. Hayward, the widow of the murdered man, who was brought to Denver by Detective Hoyt of Golden. Taking her to the jail building, he had seven or eight prisoners, including Seminole, and all of them, corresponding in some respects in appearance with him, placed in a row in a room.

  Into this room Mrs. Hayward was guided, having been told what was expected of her, namely, that she should have an opportunity to identify the probable murderer of her husband. She was told to walk along the line in which Seminole stood as stolid as a block of stone and find among the array, if she could, the guilty party. She passed rapidly down the line, looking at one man at a time, without stopping to hesitate, until she came to Seminole, when, getting a full view of him, she threw up her hands and exclaimed, “My God! That’s the man. Take him away from me!”

  The identification was positive and was a death blow to the half breed’s hopes. Besides this, he was identified by Brown & Marr, by Dr. Burr, and others, so that no doubt as to his identity could by any possibility be entertained. Seeing that he was in for it, Seminole made a full confession.

  While Seminole was in jail here, Detective Cook determined to obtain from him some information which would lead to the apprehension of Woodruff, of whom all trace had now been lost. He accordingly sent a detective to the jail in response to Seminole’s request for a lawyer and who, while professing to be a legal adviser, obtained from Seminole all he knew of his companion in crime and the particulars of the murder. He stated that, while riding with Mr. Hayward, they rode behind, the old man in front, driving; that Johnson suddenly clutched Hayward about the throat and choked him to death, while he, Seminole, took the lines and handled the horses; that the breakage of the neck was occasioned when they heaved the body out of the wagon when about to shove him under the little bridge where it was found; that at half-past ten the same night, they drove the wagon and mules into Denver and put up at the Western barn; that in the morning they took the outfit around to Paul & Strickler’s on Fifteenth Street and tried to have it sold at auction, but learning that the sale would not take place until afternoon, they went back to the barn and finally sold it to a Leadville teamster for $190, Woodruff giving the bill of sale and signing the name Thomas Logan to it; that they then went to Brown & Marr’s and hired the buggy and mares and followed exactly the route as traced and that at Sidney Bridge they separated, Woodruff going to the right, in the direction of the Niobrara River, while he kept straight on to the Pine Ridge Agency, where he was captured.

  As to his companion, Seminole said his right name was Woodruff, though he had been known only as Tom Johnson in Colorado. He knew that Woodruff was a stonecutter by trade and that he had been pardoned out of the Wyoming penitentiary after serving three years for killing a man named John Friehl, with whose wife Woodruff had been too intimate. The fellow gave a complete description of Woodruff and seemed decidedly reckless as to whether his companion in crime should be caught or not. He made his confession in a cold-blooded manner and gave no reason for the murder of Hayward, except that they wanted his team and thought it would be best to have the owner conveniently hidden away while they were carrying forward their operations in Denver and getting out of the country.

  Gen. Cook concluded that the best place to look for Woodruff was the place at which he had last been seen by Seminole and consequently sent detectives to the Niobrara region. This time Mr. Ayres, who had captured Seminole, was sent out and was accompanied by Mr. C. A. Hawley, who, being one of the most courageous as well as one of the shrewdest members of the association, was selected for this task because it was believed that there would be some lively work in arresting Woodruff, who was known to be desperate as well as cunning.

  “But you must get him, Hawley,” said Cook to his deputy when he left. “I trust the work to you and expect you to do it up in good shape.”

  “If he is to be had, you can depend on me,” said Hawley. “I am ready for him and go to find him.”

  The two detectives made the trip to Niobrara with all possible haste. When they arrived there, they began to look around for their man. One day when they came close upon an individual who answered the general description of Woodruff, that individual, finding that he was closely watched by the officers and suspecting them to be officers, jumped on his horse and rode off at a lively gait. Inquiry revealed the fact that this man was known as Tom Johnson. They felt convinced that he was the man that they wanted, and they went after him with all possible haste. A wild chase he led them, too, over the uninhabited country of western Nebraska. Knowing the lay of the land better than the officers did, he was able to evade them for a long time, and at the end of a week of as hard work as often falls to the lot of detectives, they overtook and captured him.

  After taking the fellow, they had doubts as to whether he was the man they were seeking but concluded that a man who would act as suspiciously as he had been acting must be guilty of some crime, and whether it was that of the murder of the Colorado ranchman or some other mattered little to them. Hence they determined to bag him and to bring him to Denver, which determination they put into execution, landing here with him near the middle of November. The fellow proved not to be Woodruff, but it was soon ascertained that he was a fugitive from justice from Omaha, where he had been guilty of horse stealing, and it may be remarked in passing that he was sent to that city and tried and that he had to serve out a seven-years’ sentence in the penitentiary of Nebraska. Thus the officers only brought down the wrong game when they fired, though they did not waste their ammunition. Shakespeare tells us that conscience makes cowards of us all. Johnson’s conscience certainly put him behind the bars at Lincoln City.

  This episode did not delay matters a great deal. Gen. Cook had been on the qui vive while his officers were out and had learned that Woodruff had relatives living either in Iowa or eastern Nebraska, and he had come to the conclusion that the fugitive murderer would most likely fly to them for protection and to escape detection. The sequel will prove that in this case, as in most others where he forms a theory as to the conduct of fugitive criminals, he was right. Hence he decided to send Hawley to look up Woodruff’s relatives, with the hope of also finding Woodruff. He had heard that they resided in the country before Hawley started and suggested to him that it would be a good idea for him to play the role of a granger, in case it would serve his purpose. It was also decided to make the most of the capture of Johnson, the story of which was published in the newspapers in such a way as to lead to the inference that Johnson was the man wanted, the belief being that Woodruff would see the papers and, seeing this article, would conclude that the officers had been outwitted and taken the wrong man; he would become careless, and hence be all the more easily come up with.

  While the people were reading the story of Johnson’s capture, the next morning after his arrival from Niobrara, believing that the murderer had really been overtaken, Hawley was preparing to start upon a second excursion in search of that individual. He again started out to find his man. This time he did find him, “and no foolin’,” either.

  There was one important point to be gained in making the search. No one knew definitely where Woodruff’s relatives lived, though they were known to be residents of the vicinity of Council Bluffs or Omaha.

  Going first to Omaha and then crossing the Missouri to Council Bluffs, the detective took a train on the Chicago, Burlington, and Quincy Railroad and went down the road about fifty miles, keeping his eyes and ears widely open in the hope of getting the slightest trace of the party he was after and then, disgusted, returned to Council Bluffs and went to his hotel. From a man whom he met there, he learned that James W. Woodruff, known to a brother of Sam, lived at Big Grove, thirty miles distant.

  Disguising himself as a granger, he got a pony and a letter from Mr. Phelps of the Ogden Hotel to his foreman, Walter Farwell, on his stock ranch near the house of the Woodruffs and start
ed off. The stock ranch was about twenty-eight and a half miles from Council Bluffs, and here Hawley hired out as a corn-husker and went to work. James Woodruff’s place was about a mile and a half farther on.

  Hawley passed under the name of Charles Albert and, after working one day at corn-husking, prevailed upon the foreman to send him out the following morning, looking for lost stock. It must be mentioned that, while husking corn, the detective was incidentally told by Mr. Farwell of the late arrival of a brother of James Woodruff, said to be direct from the Black Hills and with a $9,000 bank account in Deadwood. He had been home but ten days, and Hawley shrewdly suspected that this brother was the Samuel he was after. So in the course of his rambles about after lost stock, he stopped at the Woodruff farm and learned that they had moved into the town of Big Grove. The officer thereupon circled and rode into the little village from the east and spotted the Woodruff house, returning immediately thereafter to Phelps’s stock place.

  After unsaddling his pony and getting something to eat, he started for Council Bluffs, leaving at about eleven in the morning and arriving at about four in the afternoon. Here, on the 25th of November, he swore out a warrant for the arrest of Samuel Woodruff before Justice Baird, and securing the services of Constable Theodore Guittar, they took a two-seated buggy and at ten that night started for the stock farm again, getting there about three o’clock in the morning and seeking the barn for rest. But two hours later, they were rudely awakened by an attendant, who didn’t “sabe” the presence of two rough-looking tramps.

  After feeding their horses and obtaining breakfast, they drove down to Big Grove and, leaving their team concealed in the bushes on the outskirts, walked into the town. They noticed their man at work near the Woodruff house, but as soon as he saw the two strangers, he stopped his labors and went within. The officers then walked on down to the store of a Mr. Freeman, and while Hawley talked about the chances of getting work on the railroad, his companion went out and borrowed a double-barreled shotgun.

  The detective discharged both barrels out of the back door and then carefully loaded the weapon with a handful of buckshot in each barrel, stating to Guittar that it meant “death to either himself or Woodruff,” in case of an escape or failure to capture. A little later James Woodruff, the brother, came driving down the street and hitched his team a short distance from Freeman’s store and, coming up to the latter place, began a series of questioning and requestioning, evidently endeavoring to pump the disguised detective, however with little success.

  Perhaps an hour was consumed in this manner, and then he left, and a few minutes later Hawley saw the two Woodruffs coming down the street together. James carried an axe, and Sam, a revolver.

  The detective pulled back the hammers of his shotgun and watched the men through the window.

  As they neared the store, Hawley stepped out, apparently closely examining something about the locks of his weapon, and when the brothers reached the store, the officer brought the gun to his shoulder and said, “Sam Woodruff, throw up your hands; I want you.”

  Quick as a flash, the desperado’s fist sought his revolver. But the cool, quiet tones of the officer, “Pull that pistol one inch, and I’ll blow daylight through you,” caused him to let go his grip and throw up his hands above his head.

  Constable Guittar then applied the handcuffs and shackles and disarmed the man, and he was immediately marched down the street a little way, while a boy was sent after the officers’ team. The brother, James, attempted a few demonstrations, but Hawley’s revolver, cocked and held in position, quieted his ardor.

  Five minutes later, and the officers and their prisoner were driving toward Council Bluffs at full speed, and as soon as identified by Justice Baird and turned over to Hawley, he was taken to Omaha and there lodged in jail.

  Hawley, being out of funds, now telegraphed Sheriff Cook for money, and though instantly forwarded, through some red-tapeism of the telegraph company, he was delayed until too late to catch the train of that day. On the next, however, the detective and his prisoner left, reaching Cheyenne on the 29th at one o’clock in the afternoon. Before starting, the officer telegraphed Sheriff Gregg at Fremont and Sheriff Con. Groner of North Platte to meet him for the purpose of identification of his prisoner. This these officers did and fully identified the man as Samuel Woodruff. At North Platte, in addition to the sheriff, Martin Oberst, night clerk of the Railroad Hotel, recognized him as having stopped at the house two or three weeks before, when he signed his correct name. At Cheyenne he was further identified by the sheriff and T. Jeff Carr of the detective association, and upon arrival in Denver the next day, Mr. Hunter, who was in the city on business, recognized him as having stopped at his ranch on the Niobrara River on or about the 18th of September.

  When brought to the sheriff’s office, Woodruff refused to say anything, though on the journey he had denied all knowledge of the murder. He was driven over to the jail and his copartner in crime, Joseph Seminole, brought into his presence.

  “Hello, Clarke,” was Woodruff’s exclamation. “What are you doing here?”

  To this Seminole merely shrugged his shoulders.

  “I used to know that man as Clarke when we were together in the penitentiary at Laramie City,” Woodruff added, explanatorily, to the officers.

  And with this these two scoundrels were locked up in separate cells. One thing worthy of note was that Seminole’s description of the revolver carried by Woodruff tallied exactly with the weapon which Woodruff wore when arrested.

  Much of the above is taken from the Denver Tribune, as told its reporter by the detectives. At this stage of the proceedings, the Tribune was led to remark,

  To the Rocky Mountain Detective Agency, a great deal of credit is deservedly due for the able and persistent manner in which this matter has been worked up, and this final capture had added increased lustre to the reputation already borne by this excellent organization. To D. J. Cook, C. A. Hawley, W. W. Ayres, Joe Arnold, T. J. Carr, and C. P. Hoyt, the officers who have worked up the affair, special honor is due. They have been untiring in their efforts and unsparing in their expenditures and now have the pleasure of seeing total success crown their labors. Officers Cook and Arnold have secured the wagon that belonged to the murdered man from a Mr. Todd in Douglas country and will soon have the mules.

  On the 3d of December, three days after Woodruff’s arrival in the city, Mrs. Hayward and her two daughters, Minnie and Cora, aged then thirteen and fifteen, respectively, arrived in the city accompanied by Detective Hoyt of Golden and proceeded to the jail to identify the prisoner. When all was ready, Woodruff was brought from his cell into the parlor of the jail. Mrs. Hayward sat upon the sofa facing the door, Cora on her left and Minnie on the right. Sheriff Cook stood at the head of the sofa, and the other officials, near the windows and the door. As Woodruff entered the room, he shot one glance out of his dark eyes at the visitor on the sofa and then dropped them, never again raising them during the remainder of the interview except once, and then to reply to a question. His nervousness was quite apparent, the trembling and twitching of his hands being very perceptible.

  A moment’s silence after he had taken his seat, and then Mrs. Hayward said, “Minnie, is that the man?”

  “Yes,” was the positive and quick reply of the little girl, never raising her eyes from the close scrutiny with which she had regarded the prisoner from his entrance.

  “You are sure he is the man,” continued Mrs. Hayward, and the answer was as quick and as positive as before.

  The other daughter, Cora, now spoke. “I know that is the man,” she said, and the mother, turning to Sheriff Cook, said slowly, “Yes, that is the man—there is no mistake.”

  At this moment Joseph Seminole was brought into the room. “And there is the other,” said Mrs. Hayward—the two daughters agreeing in like words. Then Gen. Cook asked Woodruff if he desired to ask any questions to test the visitor
s’ belief and received the reply, “My lawyer will do my talking.”

  There was no longer any room for doubt. The two scoundrels who had killed an innocent man and who had led the officers such a chase as few criminals before or since their time ever did had been overtaken by the Rocky Mountain Detective Association. It had been a long but a successful chase. They had been taken and securely locked in the Arapahoe County jail, where they had been fully identified and where they awaited orders from the Jefferson County authorities.

  The last chapter of this somewhat remarkable story at last opens. It is, if anything, the most thrilling of the series, as it relates the tragic end of the two men who have figured in these pages to considerable length and with whom we began when we left Middle Park in August of 1879. It is now December 28 of the same year, and the story is drawing to its close. Over three months have elapsed since Mr. Hayward, the quiet citizen and loving father and husband, was killed by these villains, but his neighbors, who knew him and appreciated his worth, had not forgotten the horror of the crime nor allowed the passing days to carry with them their desire to avenge the great wrong that had been committed.

  The scene is now laid at Golden. Gen. Cook, for the Rocky Mountain Detective Association, had taken the murderers to Golden, that being the county seat of Jefferson County, on the 9th of December, and, hearing that there was a likelihood of an effort being made to lynch the scamps, took precautions to prevent such a result. It had long been his boast that no prisoner had ever been taken from his hands and lynched, and he did not propose to have his creditable reputation blackened now. He was fully prepared to meet any attempt upon the lives of the men that might be made, and appreciating the sort of man they were dealing with, the Jefferson vigilantes wisely decided to await “a more convenient season” for the putting into execution of any designs they might have. The prisoners feared lynching and trembled when Cook and his party left them after they had been identified and placed in jail. Woodruff said, “I fear those old farmers who were Hayward’s neighbors. They are a great deal more determined and bitter than miners.”