Bank Robbery in Virginia City

On the sleepy noon of July 30, 1879, three men rode up to Henry Elling's bank in Virginia City, Montana. One held the horses and the other two went in. Shortly, the two men came out and walked down Van Buren Street to Cover Street, mounted, and loped up the road toward the slaughter house. I saw them, all three, as they went by the Hamp. Johnson stone house. About the same time down Wallace Street I heard cries of "Help!" It was A. J. Bennett in front of the bank. His hands were tied. He was yelling, "Help! Three men have robbed Elling's bank!" People began to run out of their business houses, guns in hand.

Mr. Bennett had been in the bank alone. When the two came in, they commanded him to hold up his hands, which he did. Then one of the robbers tied Bennett's hands behind him with buckskin string and remained with Mr. Bennet while the other went in the vault. The robbers took all the money they could see and asked Bennett for more. He told them they had it all except the silver. There were two bags of silver containing $1000 each, which they did not trifle with, but at the time there was about $75,000 in a drawer in the safe in the vault, which the robbers overlooked, also $200,000 in bonds and $20,000 in gold dust. The robbers took about $6,000 in all.

After warning Mr. Bennett to keep quiet, and not give any alarm for fifteen minutes or they would kill him, they left. But he managed to get the door open almost immediately, though the buckskin cut into his flesh, and he began yelling. The men of the town, after some futile shooting, took to horse, going into the hills to catch the robbers. They were well armed and had plenty of rope. But the robbers had already passed out of sight.

My father (Col. James Edmund, Samuel Taylor, Edmund, James, Joseph Callaway) and his friend Jacob H. Baker a boot and shoe merchant, interested in horses and ranches also, went together. My father rode "Old Sam," a white or grey pacing horse, and Jake rode a big bay. Both had rifles. They thought it was likely that the robbers would go by the lakes. They rode all speed to Butcher Gulch and there followed the stream to the lakes. They scouted the country thoroughly, as they thought, but seeing no one, came back to Virginia City. The robbery was, of course, the subject of conversation in the entire Madison Valley. People in the valley suspected a young man named George Wells. He was gone from the valley that day and was evasive when asked as to his whereabouts. People went to the ranch where George had been staying. There some bright fellow dug in the chaff in the manger of a stable and found an oyster can in which there were bills aggregating $500. George was arrested. He denied his guilt, but in default of bail had to lie in jail. X. Beidler happened to town and the rumor was that he arranged for a stool pigeon. Whether Beidler's doing or not, a man was put in jail with Wells on some trumped-up charge and pretended he would plead guilty when the court convened. Wells told him that he was the man who held the horses for the robbers who gave him the $500.

In the meantime, after his arrest, he had retained my father to defend him. All he had was a fine Sharps rifle, a double-action revolver of the latest make, and a saddle and bridle. These he gave my father. The Sharps is in our home in Helena.

After Wells told his story to the stool pigeon, the jig was up and he pleaded guilty, drawing a sentence of ten years. Now, that should end the story, but it does not. The next year my father was at Miles City as special United States attorney. His chief duty there was to prosecute horse thieves and men of that ilk. People were always stealing from the government. Fort Keogh was nearby. Miles City was a frontier town and a wild one. The town was full of saloons. A photograph at that time would have shown ox-teams, mule-teams, frontier wagons, horses tied to hitching posts in front of the business places, (especially the saloons), and men in frontier garb, Indians in blankets, and the general run of people one saw in that period along the streets.

After a hard day in court, my father and a friend strolled into a large saloon in which there were billiard tables, gambling paraphernalia, and the usual card and drinking tables. He and a friend seated themselves at a table and ordered a drink. In a little while his friend excused himself. Just as the gentleman left, a lull occurred in the usual noise, and my father heard three rough-looking men talking at the adjoining table.

One said, "You got off pretty lucky at that; you didn't have to kill anybody." The other said, "It wasn't so good. We only got $6,000. We had to give a thousand of it to the feller who held the horses. We heard afterwards that the cashier had lied to us. There was $75,000 in another drawer. We didn't have to kill anybody, that was lucky, but we had a close call. Above the town a ways is some lakes. It was upgrade and the horses were blowed. We rode across a little creek in a quakin' asp grove and loosened the cinches. Then we laid down in the grass with our guns. Jest about that time we seen two men comin'. They had rifles and ropes. I guess they were lookin' for us. One was a big red-whiskered man on a bay horse and the other was a little man, ridin' a white pacer. The little man was tellin' the big man a story. They didn't see us. If they had, we'd had to shoot 'em. They rode past. They was the only two we seen."

My father said to himself that he needed some fresh air and he went outside.

~ from Montana's Righteous Hangmen, The Vigilantes in Action, by Llewellyn Link Callaway (1868-1951), edited by Llewellyn Link Callaway, Jr., pp. 163-167, 1982.

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