The remainder of that day and the following night were spent in
fruitless efforts to determine the whereabouts of the fugitive.
Telegrams were sent along the various railway lines into every part of
the State; messengers were despatched to neighboring towns and camps,
but all in vain. For the first thirty-six hours it seemed as though the
earth must have opened and swallowed him up; there was not even a clue
as to the direction in which he had gone.
The second morning after his disappearance reports began to come in from
a dozen different quarters of as many different men, all answering the
description given of the fugitive, who had been identified as the
criminal. Four or five posses, averaging a dozen men each, all armed,
set forth in various directions to follow the clews which seemed most
worthy of credence. For the next few days reports were constantly
received from one posse or another, to the effect that they were on the
right trail, the fugitive had been seen only the preceding night at a
miners' cabin where he had forced two men at the point of a revolver to
surrender their supper of pork and beans; or some lonely ranchman and
his wife had entertained him at dinner the day before. He was always
reported as only about ten hours ahead, footsore and weary, but at the
end of ten days they returned, disorganized, dilapidated, and disgusted,
without even having had a sight of their man.
Other bands were sent out with instructions to separate into squads of
three or four and search the ground thoroughly. Some of them were more
successful, in that they did, occasionally, get sight of the fugitive,
but always under circumstances disadvantageous to themselves. Three of
them stood one day talking with a rancher, who only two hours before had
furnished the man, under protest, with a hearty dinner and a fine rifle.
The rancher pointed out the direction in which he had gone, over a rocky
road leading down a steep, rough ravine; as he did so, his guest
appeared on the other side of the ravine, within good rifle range. A
mutual recognition followed; the men started to raise their rifles, but
the other was too quick for them. Covering them with the rifle which he
carried, he walked backward a distance of about forty yards and then,
with a mocking salute, disappeared. Bloodhounds were next employed, but
the man swam and waded streams and doubled back on his own trail till
men and dogs were alike baffled. This continued for about two months;
then all reports regarding the man ceased; nothing was heard of him, it
was surmised that he had reached the "Pocket," and all efforts at
further search were for the time abandoned.
Of all those concerned in the efforts for his capture there was not one
more thoroughly disgusted with the outcome than Mr. Britton. For months
he had had this man under surveillance, convinced that he was a criminal
and planning to bring about his capture. Through his own efforts he had
been identified, and by his coolness and presence of mind he had
accomplished his arrest when nine out of ten others would have failed,
and all seemed now to have been effort thrown away. He regretted the
man's escape the more especially as he felt that his own life, as well
as that of his son, was endangered so long as he was at liberty.