In less than an hour after the tragedy, Robbins, an old friend and former deputy of Pinkham, armed with a double-barrelled shotgun and revolvers, mounted his horse, and left town alone, in swift pursuit of Patterson. He was noted for bravery, and had been the hero of several bloody encounters. At a little wayside inn, seventeen miles from the city, he overtook the fugitive, who had stopped for supper. Patterson came to the door as he rode up.
“I have come to arrest you, Ferd,” said he, at the same time raising his gun so that it covered Patterson.
“All right, Robbins, if that’s your object,” replied Patterson, as he handed Robbins his revolver. In a few moments they started on their return. Before they arrived at town, several of the sheriff’s deputies met them, and claimed the custody of Patterson. Robbins surrendered him, and he was taken to the county jail.
After Patterson’s account of the fight had been circulated, the community became divided in sentiment, the Democrats generally espousing the cause of the prisoner, the Republicans declaring him to be a murderer. There were some exceptions. Judge R——, a life-long Democrat, and a Tennesseean by birth, was very severe in his denunciation of Patterson. He distinguished him as the most marked example of total depravity he had ever known, and related the following incident in confirmation of this opinion:
Several years before this time, Patterson joined in an expedition in Northern California, to pursue a band of Indians who had been stealing horses and committing other depredations upon the property of the settlers. The pursuers captured a bright Indian lad of sixteen. After tying him to a tree, they consulted as to what disposition should be made of him. They were unanimous in the opinion that he should not be freed, but were concerned to know how to take care of him. Some time having elapsed without arriving at any conclusion, Patterson suddenly sprung to his feet, and seizing his rifle, said with an oath that he would take care of him, and shot the poor boy through the heart. “That incident,” said the judge, “determined for me the brutal character of the wretch. His whole life since has been of a piece with it. For years he has been a ‘bummer’ among men of his class. He has lived off his friends. He has had no higher aims than those of an abandoned, dissolute gambler. Pinkham, though a gambler, had other and better tendencies. His schemes for the future looked to an abandonment of his past career, and he was in no sense a ‘bummer.’”