One warm September day in the fall of the same year, quite a concourse of Indians were gathered out doors near the big Indian house a little north of D. T. Denny’s home in the settlement (Seattle); they were having a great “wa-wa” (talk) about something; he walked over and asked them what it was all about.
“Salmon Bay Curley,” who was among them, thereupon told him of the murder and the distribution of the valuables.
Shortly after, W. N. Bell, D. T. Denny, Dr. Maynard, E. A. Clark and one or two others, with Curley as a guide, went out to the lake, found the place and at first thought of removing the body, but that being impossible, Dr. Maynard placed the skull, or rather the fragments of it, in a handkerchief and took the two pairs of spectacles, one gold-rimmed, the other steel-rimmed, which were left by the Indians, and all returned to the settlement to make their report.
Investigation followed and as a result four Indians were arrested. A trial before a Justice Court was held in the old Felker house, which was built by Captain Felker and was the first large frame house of sawed lumber erected on the site of Seattle.
At this trial, Klap-ke-lachi Jim testified positively against two of them and implicated two others. The first two were summarily executed by hanging from a tall sharply leaning stump over which a rope was thrown; it stood where the New England Hotel was afterward built. A young Indian and one called Old Petawow were the others accused.
Petawow was carried into court by two young Indians, having somehow broken his leg. There was not sufficient evidence against him to convict and he was released.
C. D. Boren was sheriff and for lack of a jail, the young Indian accused was locked in a room in his own house.
Not yet satisfied with the work of execution, a mob headed by E. A. Clark determined to hang this Indian also. They therefore obtained the assistance of some sailors with block and tackle from a ship in the harbor, set up a tripod of spars, cut for shipment, over which they put the rope. In order to have the coast clear so they could break the “jail,” a man was sent to Boren’s house, who pretended that he wished to buy some barrels left in Boren’s care by a cooper and stacked on the beach some distance away.
The unsuspecting victim of the ruse accompanied him to the beach where the man detained him as long as he thought necessary, talking of barrels, brine and pickling salmon, and perhaps not liking to miss the “neck-tie party,” at last said, “Maybe we’d better get back, the boys are threatening mischief.”
Taking the hint instantly, Boren started on a dead run up the beach in a wild anxiety to save the Indian’s life. In sight of the improvised scaffold he beheld the Indian with the noose around his neck, E. A. Clark and D. Livingston near by, a sea captain, who was a mere-on-looker, and the four sailors in line with the rope in their hands, awaiting the order to pull.
The sheriff recovered himself enough to shout, “Drop that rope, you rascals!”
“O string him up, he’s nothing but a Siwash,” said one.
“Dry up! you have no right to hang him, he will be tried at the next term of court,” said Boren. The sailors dropped the rope, Boren removed the noose from the neck of the Indian, who was silent, bravely enduring the indignity from the mob. The majesty of the law was recognized and the crowd dispersed.
The Indian was sent to Steilacoom, where he was kept in jail for six months, but when tried there was no additional evidence and he was therefore released. Returning to his people he changed his name, taking that of his father’s cousin, and has lived a quiet and peaceable life throughout the years.
Sad indeed seems the fate of this unknown wanderer, but not so much so as that of others who came to the Northwest to waste their lives in riotous living and were themselves responsible for a tragic end of a wicked career, so often sorrowfully witnessed by the sober and steadfast.
Of the participants in this exciting episode, D. T. Denny, C. D. Boren and the Indian, whose life was so promptly and courageously saved by C. D. Boren from an ignominious death, are (in 1892) still living in King County, Washington.
CHAPTER VI.
KILLING COUGARS
It was springtime in an early year of pioneer times. D. T. and Louisa Denny were living in their log cabin in the swale, an opening in the midst of the great forest, about midway between Elliott Bay and Lake Union. Not very far away was their only neighbor, Thomas Mercer, with his family of several young daughters.
On a pleasant morning, balmy with the presage of coming summer, as the two pioneers, David T. Denny and Thomas Mercer, wended, their way to their task of cutting timber, they observed some of the cattle lying down in an open space, and heard the tinkling bell of one of the little band wandering about cropping fresh spring herbage in the edge of the woods. They looked with a feeling of affection at the faithful dumb creatures who were to aid in affording sustenance, as well as a sort of friendly companionship in the lonely wilds.
After a long, sunny day spent in swinging the ax, whistling, singing and chatting, they returned to their cabins as the shadows were deepening in the mighty forest.
In the first cabin there was considerable anxiety manifested by the mistress of the same, revealed in the conversation at the supper table:
“David,” said she, “there was something wrong with the cattle today; I heard a calf bawl as if something had caught it and ‘Whiteface’ came up all muddy and distressed looking.”
“Is that so? Did you look to see what it was?”
“I started to go but the baby cried so that I had to come back. A little while before that I thought I heard an Indian halloo and looked out of the door expecting to see him come down to the trail, but I did not see anything at all.”
“What could it be? Well, it is so dark now in the woods that I can’t see anything; I will have to wait until tomorrow.”
Early the next morning, David went up to the place where he had seen the calves the day before, taking “Towser,” a large Newfoundland dog with him, also a long western rifle he had brought across the plains.
Not so many rods away from the cabin he found the remnants of a calf upon which some wild beast had feasted the day previous.
There were large tracks all around easily followed, as the ground was soft with spring rains. Towser ran out into the thick timber hard after a wild creature, and David heard something scratch and run up a tree and thought it must be a wild cat.
No white person had ever seen any larger specimen of the feline race in this region.
He stepped up to a big fir log and walked along perhaps fifty feet and looking up a giant cedar tree saw a huge cougar glaring down at him with great, savage yellow eyes, crouching motionless, except for the incessant twitching, to and fro, of the tip of its tail, as a cat does when watching a mouse.
Right before him in so convenient a place as to attract his attention, stood a large limb which had fallen and stuck into the ground alongside the log he was standing on, so he promptly rested his gun on it, but it sank into the soft earth from the weight of the gun and he quickly drew up, aiming at the chest of the cougar.
The gun missed fire.
Fearing the animal would spring upon him, he walked back along the log about twenty feet, took a pin out of his coat and picked out the tube, poured in fresh powder from his powder horn and put on a fresh cap.
All the time the yellow eyes watched him.
Advancing again, he fired; the bullet struck through its vitals, but away it went bolting up the tree quite a distance. Another bullet was rammed home in the old muzzle loader. The cougar was dying, but still held on by its claws stuck in the bark of the tree, its head resting on a limb. Receiving one more shot in the head it let go and came hurtling down to the ground.
Towser was wild with savage delight and bit his prostrate enemy many times, chewing at the neck until it was a mass of foam, but not once did his sharp teeth penetrate the tough, thick hide.
Hurrying