“And, when you left, what was the condition of the McDonald family?” the defense attorney asked.
“They was all still alive. Fac’ is, Miz McDonald was bakin’ a pie,” Kelly said.
“Thank you,” Dempster said. “Your witness, Counselor.”
“Mrs. McDonald was baking a pie, you say?” Gleason asked in his cross-examination.
“Yeah. An apple pie.”
“Had Mrs. McDonald actually started baking it?”
“Yeah, ’cause we could all smell it.”
“What time was that, Mr. Kelly?”
“Oh, I’d say it was about eleven o’clock. Maybe even a little closer on toward noon.”
“Thank you. I have no further questions of this witness.” The prosecutor turned toward the bench. “Your Honor, prosecution would like to recall Pastor Martin to the stand.”
Pastor Martin, the resident pastor of the First Methodist Church of Green River City, Wyoming, who had, earlier, testified for the prosecution, retook the stand. He was a tall, thin man, dressed in black, with a black string tie.
“The court reminds the witness that he is still under oath,” the judge said. Then to Gleason he said, “You may begin the redirect.”
“Pastor Martin, you discovered the bodies, did you not?” Gleason asked.
“I did.”
“What time did you arrive?
“It was just after noon. We didn’t want to arrive right at noon, because Mrs. McDonald, kind-hearted soul she was, would have thought she had to feed us.”
“You testified earlier that you and four other parishioners had gone to thank the McDonalds for their generous donation to the organ fund?”
“Yes.”
“And that all five of you saw the bodies?”
Pastor Martin pinched the bridge of his nose and was quiet for a moment before he responded. “May their souls rest with God,” he said. “Yes, all five of us saw the bodies.”
“You have already testified as to the condition of the bodies when you found them, so I won’t have you go through all that again. But I am going to ask you a simple question. You just heard the witness testify that Mrs. McDonald was baking a pie when they left, just before noon. Did you see any evidence of that pie?”
Pastor Martin shook his head. “There was no pie,” he said. “In fact, the oven had not been used that day. It was cold, and there were no coals.”
“Thank you. No further questions.”
“Witness may step down,” the judge said.
In his closing argument to the jury, the defense attorney suggested that the letters BAK were not, in themselves, conclusive.
“They could have referred to Mrs. McDonald’s intention to bake an apple pie. After all, the letters b-a-k, are the first three letters of the word bake. Perhaps it was a warning that the oven needed to be checked, lest there be a fire,” he said. “Don’t forget, we have a witness who testified that the Bakers left the McDonald Ranch with him on the very day the McDonalds were killed. And, according to Mr. Kelly, the McDonalds were still alive at that time they left. The burden of proof is on the prosecution. That means that, according to the law, in order to find Harry and Arnold Baker guilty you are going to have to be convinced, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that they did it. Prosecution has offered no evidence or testimony that would take this case beyond the shadow of a doubt.”
During Gleason’s closing, he pointed out that Kelly was not a very reliable witness, whereas the two witnesses who had seen the Baker brothers at the ranch on the morning of the murder were known citizens of good character. He also reminded the jury that the witness said that the donation had come directly from a cash box and that Arnold Baker had commented on the money.
“Mr. Pratt said he believed there was at least three hundred dollars left in the box, and maybe a little more. An affidavit from the bartender in Burnt Fork says that the two men spent lavishly while they were in the saloon, and Matt Jensen, acting as a duly sworn deputy, found two hundred sixty-eight dollars on them when he made the arrest.”
In addition, the prosecuting attorney pointed out that, according to Pastor Martin, whose testimony was also unimpeachable, that there was no evidence of any apple pie having been baked, which cast further doubt on Kelly’s story.
“With his own blood, as he lay dying, Scott McDonald scrawled the letters, BAK. BAK for Baker. He hardly had time to actually leave us a note, so he did what he could to see to it that those who murdered him, and his family, would pay for their act. We owe it to this good man to make certain that his heroic action is rewarded by returning a verdict of guilty of murder in the first degree for Harry and Arnold Baker.”
Less than one hour after the court had been called to order, the jury returned from their five minute deliberation.
“Gentleman of the jury, have you selected a foreman and have you reached a verdict?” Judge Norton asked.
“We have, Your Honor. I am the foreman,” a tall, gray-haired man said.
“Would you publish the verdict, please?”
“We find the defendants, Harry and Arnold Baker, guilty of murder in the first degree.”
There was an outbreak of applause from those in the gallery, but Judge Norton used his gavel to restore order. “I will not have any demonstrations in my court,” he said sternly. The judge looked around the court room. “Bailiff, where is the witness, Jerome Kelly?”
“He’s not present, Your Honor.”
“Sheriff Foley?”
“Yes, Your Honor?” the sheriff said, standing.
“I’m putting out a bench warrant on Jerome Kelly for giving false testimony. Please find him, and take him into custody.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Now, Bailiff, if you would, bring the convicted before the bench.”
The two men were brought to stand before the judge.
“Harry Baker and Arnold Baker, I have presided over thousands of cases in my twenty-six years on the bench. But never in my career, have I encountered anyone with less redemptive tissue than the two of you. Your crime in murdering an entire family, a family that had taken you into their bosom, is particularly heinous.
“You have been tried and found guilty by a jury of your peers. Therefore, it is my sentence that, one week hence, the sheriff of Sweetwater County will lead the two of you to the gallows at ten of the clock in the morning. Once upon the gallows, ropes will be placed around your necks, all support will be withdrawn from under your feet, and you shall be dropped a distance sufficient to break your necks. And there, Harry Baker and Arnold Baker, you shall continue to hang until it is obvious that all life has left your miserable bodies. May God have mercy on your souls, for I have none.”
Chapter Three
One week later
The gallows stood in the middle of Center Street, well constructed but terrible in the gruesomeness of its function. A professionally painted sign was placed on an easel in front of the gallows.
On this gallows
At ten o’clock on Thursday morning
Will be hung
The murderers Harry and Arnold Baker.
All are invited.
Attendance is Free.
The idea of a double hanging had drawn visitors from miles around, not only because of the morbid curiosity such a spectacle generated, but also because the McDonald family had been very well liked, and the murders the two condemned had committed, including the murder of Scott McDonald’s wife and children, were particularly shocking
The street was full of spectators, and the crowd was growing even larger as they all jostled for position. Matt glanced over toward the tower clock in front of the courthouse to check the time. It was five minutes after ten.
The judge had said they would be hanged at ten o’clock, which meant that the prisoners should have been brought out by now. Some in the crowd were growing impatient, and more than one person wondered aloud what was holding up the proceedings.
Matt began to have the strange feelin
g that something was wrong, so he slipped away from the crowd and walked around into the alley behind the jail. He was going to look in through the back window but he didn’t have to. The moment he stepped into the alley he saw the Baker brothers and the man who had given false testimony on their behalf, Jerome Kelly, coming through the back door.
“Hold it!” Matt called out.
“It’s Jensen!” Harry Baker shouted, firing his pistol at the same time.
The bullet hit the wall beside Matt, sending little brick chips into his face. Matt returned fire and Harry went down. By now both Arnold Baker and Kelly were shooting as well, and Matt dived to the ground, then rolled over and shot again. Arnold clutched his chest and went down.
Kelly, now seeing that both Bakers were down, dropped his gun and threw up his hands. At that moment Sheriff Foley came out of the jail, holding his pistol in one hand, while holding his other hand to a bleeding wound on his head.
“Jensen, are you all right?” the sheriff called.
“Yes, I’m not hit. How about you?”
“They killed my deputy, and I’ve got a knot on my head where this son of a bitch hit me,” Foley said. The sheriff looked at Harry and Arnold Baker, then chuckled. “I wonder if you saved the county the cost of the execution, or if we will have to pay the hangman anyway? Or, maybe we can just go ahead and have the hanging, only it’ll be Kelly instead of the Baker brothers.”
From the Boise, Idaho, Statesman:
Deadly Shootout in Wyoming!
MURDERERS KILLED WHILE TRYING TO ESCAPE.
Last month the brothers Harry and Arnold Baker committed one of the most heinous crimes in recent memory when they murdered Scott McDonald, his wife, Lucy, and their two young sons, Toby and Tyler. The crime, which happened in Sweetwater County, Wyoming, raised the ire of all decent citizens who knew Scott McDonald as a man of enterprise, magnanimity, and Christian faith.
The murderers were tracked down and arrested by Matt Jensen, who had himself deputized just for that purpose. Jensen brought the brothers back to Green River City for a quick and fair trial, resulting in a guilty verdict for both parties. They were sentenced to be hanged, but moments before they were to be hanged, Deputy Sheriff Goodwin was killed, and Sheriff Fred Foley knocked unconscious, resulting in the prisoners being broken out of jail. All this was accomplished by Jerome Kelly, a cousin of the Baker brothers. Jerome Kelly was himself wanted for having provided false testimony at the trial of Harold and Arnold Baker.
Had Matt Jensen not discovered the escape in progress, the two brothers would have made good their getaway. In the ensuing shootout Matt Jensen dispatched both murderers with his deadly accurate shooting. The accomplice, seeing that further resistance was futile, threw down his gun and surrendered. A quick trial found him guilty and he is to be hanged for murdering Deputy Goodwin
Some readers may recognize the name Matt Jensen, as he has become a genuine hero of the West, a man about whom books and ballads have been written. Those who know him personally have naught but good things to say of him. Despite his many accomplishments, he is modest, a friend of all who are right, and a foe to those who would visit their evil deeds upon innocent people.
The Boise Statesman, being published in the territorial capitol, was the largest newspaper in Idaho. And though only five thousand copies were printed, it was circulated by railroad and stage coach throughout the territory so that a significant number of the thirty-two thousand people who lived in Idaho were aware of, and often read, the newspaper.
Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho Territory
Colonel Clay Sherman was a tall man with broad shoulders and narrow hips. He had steel gray eyes, and he wore a neatly trimmed moustache which now, like his hair, was dusted with gray. He was the commanding officer of the Idaho Auxiliary Peace Officers’ Posse. The posse consisted of two officers and thirty-two men, all duly sworn as functioning, though unpaid, deputies to the Idaho Territorial Task Force. Clay Sherman had received his commission from the assistant deputy attorney general of the territory of Idaho, and, as such, was duly authorized to deputize those who joined the posse. Sherman and his Auxiliary Peace Officers wore deputies’ badges, but because they were not paid by the territorial government, the posse supported itself, and supported itself very well, by acting as a private police force. Most of the posse’s income was generated when it was hired by the disgruntled to get justice where they felt justice had been denied.
So far the posse had managed to avoid any trouble with territorial or federal law agencies because they managed to find loopholes to allow them to operate. But their operations always walked a very narrow line between legality and illegality, and had either the territorial or federal government taken the trouble to conduct a thorough investigation, it would have discovered that in fact, the posse often did cross over that line.
There were many citizens, and a few quite a few law-makers, who felt that the posse was little more than a band of outlaws, hired assassins who hid behind the dubious authority of deputies’ badges. It was also pointed out by these detractors that very few of the wanted men they went after were ever brought back alive, including even some who were being pursued for the simple purpose of being served a subpoena to appear in civil court. The Boise Statesman and other newspapers had written editorials critical of the Idaho Auxiliary Peace Officers’ Posse, pointing out that, despite its name, it had nothing to do with “peace.” Some of those newspapers had paid for their critical observations by having their offices vandalized by “irate citizens who supported the posse,” or so it was claimed.
At this moment, Sherman and few members of the posse were engaged in one of the many private police force operations by which it managed to earn its keep. They were operating in the Sawtooth Mountains, and Colonel Sherman stepped up on a rock and looked down toward a little cabin that was nestled against the base of the sheer side of Snowy Peak. The posse had trailed Louis Blackburn to this cabin, and now their quarry was trapped. The beauty of it was that Blackburn had no idea he was trapped. He thought he was quite secure in the cabin.
Part of the reason for Louis Blackburn’s complacency was due to the fact that he didn’t even know he was being trailed. Two weeks earlier, Louis Blackburn had been tried for the murder of James Dixon. At least three witnesses testified that Dixon not only started the fight, but he had also drawn first. The jury believed the witnesses, and found Blackburn not guilty, and not guilty by reason of self-defense. The judge released him from custody and Blackburn went on his way, a free man.
The problem with the court finding was that not everyone agreed with the verdict, and principal among those who disagreed was Augustus Dixon, James Dixon’s father. And because the senior Dixon had made a fortune in gold and was now one of wealthiest and most powerful men in Idaho, he was able to use both his money and influence to find an alternate path to justice, or at least the justice he sought.
Dixon managed to convince a cooperative judge to hold a civil trial. It was Augustus Dixon’s intention to sue Louis Blackburn for depriving him of his son. No official law agency of the territory of Idaho would serve a subpoena for the civil trial, but then, Dixon didn’t want any official law officer involved in the process. Dixon hired Clay Sherman and his Idaho Auxiliary Peace Officers’ Posse to run Blackburn down and bring him back for civil trial.
Sherman had eight men with him and as he looked back at them he saw that everyone had found a place with a good view and a clear line of fire toward the cabin.
“Lieutenant,” Sherman said to Poke Terrell, his second in command.
“Yes, Colonel?”
“It is my belief, based upon our conversation with Mr. Dixon, that he doesn’t particularly want us to bring Blackburn back alive.”
“Yes, sir, that is my belief as well,” Poke replied.
“You know what that means then, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” Poke said. “We have to get him to take a shot at us.”
“You know what to do,” She
rman said.
Poke nodded, then cupped his hand around his mouth. “Blackburn!” he called. “Louis Blackburn! Come out!”
“What?” Blackburn called back, his voice thin and muffled from inside the cabin. “Who’s calling me?”
“This is Lieutenant Poke Terrell of the Idaho Auxiliary Peace Officers’ Posse. I am ordering you to come out of that cabin with your hands up!”
“What do you mean, come out with my hands up? Why should I do that? What do you want?”
“I have a summons to take you back for the murder of James Dixon!” Terrell shouted, loudly.
“You’re crazy! I’ve already been tried, and found innocent.”
“You’re being tried again.”
“My lawyer said I can’t be tried again.”
“Your lawyer lied. And if you don’t come out of your cabin now, I’m going to open fire,” Poke called.
“Go away! You ain’t got no right to take me back.”
“You are going back, whether it’s dead or alive,” Poke said.
As Sherman and Poke expected, a pistol shot rang out from inside the cabin. The pistol shot wasn’t aimed, and was fired more as a warning than any act of hostile intent.
“All right, boys, he shot at us!” Sherman called.
“Beg your pardon, Colonel, but I don’t think he was actual aimin’ at us. I think he was just tryin’ to scare us off,” one of the men said.
“That’s where you are wrong, Scraggs,” Sherman said. “He clearly shot at us, I could feel the breeze of the bullet as it passed my ear.” Smiling, Sherman turned to the rest of his men. “That’s all we needed, boys. He shot at us, so now if we kill him, it is self-defense. Open fire,” he ordered.
Snake River Slaughter Page 2