The vigilantes of Montana; Or, popular justice in the Rocky Mountains / Being a correct and impartial narrative of the chase, trial, capture and execution of Henry Plummer's road agent band, together with accounts of the lives and crimes of many of the robbers and desperadoes, the whole being interspersed with sketches of life in the mining camps of the "Far West"

by Thos. J. Dimsdale

NAMES, PLACE AND DATE OF EXECUTION.

George Ives, Nevada City, Dec. 21st 1863; Erastus Yager (Red) and G. W. Brown, Stinkingwater Valley, January 4th, 1864; Henry Plummer, Ned Ray and Buck Stinson, Bannack City, January 10th, 1864; George Lane, (Club-foot George,) Frank Parish, Haze Lyons, Jack Gallagher and Boone Helm, Virginia City, January 14th, 1864; Steven Marsland, Big Hole Ranche, January 16th, 1864; William Bunton, Deer Lodge Valley, January 19th, 1864; Cyrus Skinner, Alexander Carter, and John Cooper, Hell Gate, January 25th, 1864; George Shears, Frenchtown, January 24th, 1864; Robert Zachary, Hell Gate, January 25th, 1864; William Graves alias Whiskey Bill, Fort Owens, January 26th, 1864; William Hunter, Gallatin Valley, February 3d, 1864; John Wagoner, (Dutch John) and Joe Pizanthia, Bannack City, January 11th, 1864.

Judge Smith and J. Thurmond, the counsel of the road agents, were banished. Thurmond brought an action, at Salt Lake, against Mr. Fox, charging him with aiding in procuring his banishment. After some peculiar developments of justice in Utah, he judiciously withdrew all proceedings, and gave a receipt in full of all past and future claims on the Vigilance Committee, in which instance he exhibited a wise discretion—

“It’s no for naething the gled whistles.”

The Bannack branch of the Vigilantes also sent out of the country, H. G. Sessions, convicted of circulating bogus dust, and one H. D. Moyer, who furnished a room at midnight, for them to work in, together with material for their labor. A man named Kustar was also banished for recklessly shooting through the windows of the hotel opposite his place of abode.

The circumstances attending the execution of J. A. Slade, and the charges against him, will appear in full in a subsequent part of this work. This case stands on a footing distinct from all the others.

Moore and Reeves were banished, as will afterwards appear, by a miners’ jury, at Bannack, in the winter of 1863, but came back in the Spring. They fled the country when the Vigilantes commenced operations, and are thought to be in Mexico.

Charley Forbes was a member of the gang; but being wounded in a scuffle, or a robbery, a doctor was found and taken to where he lay. Finding that he was incurable, it is believed that Moore and Reeves shot him, to prevent his divulging what he knew of the band; but this is uncertain. Some say he was killed by Moore and Reeves, in Red Rock Canon.

The headquarters of the marauders was Rattlesnake Ranche. Plummer often visited it, and the robbers used to camp, with their comrades, in little wakiups above and below it, watching, and ready for fight, flight or plunder. Two rods in front of this building was a sign post, at which they used to practice with their revolvers. They were capital shots. Plummer was the quickest hand with his revolver of any man in the mountains. He could draw the pistol and discharge the five loads in three seconds. The post was riddled with holes, and was looked upon as quite a curiosity, until it was cut down, in the summer of 1863.

Another favorite resort of the gang was Dempsey’s Cottonwood Ranche. The owner knew the character of the robbers, but had no connection with them; and, in those days, a man’s life would not have been worth fifteen minutes purchase, if the possessor had been foolish enough even to hint at his knowledge of their doings. Daley’s, at Ramshorn Gulch, and ranches or wakiups on the Madison, the Jefferson, Wisconsin Creek, and Mill Creek, were also constantly occupied by members of the band.

By discoveries of the bodies of the victims, the confessions of the murderers before execution, and reliable information sent to the Committee, it was found that one hundred and two people had been certainly killed by those miscreants in various places, and it was believed, on the best information, that scores of unfortunates had been murdered and buried, whose remains were never discovered, nor their fate definitely ascertained. All that was known, was that they started, with greater or less sums of money, for various places, and were never heard of again.

CHAPTER V.
THE DARK DAYS OF MONTANA.

“Will all Neptune’s Ocean wash this blood
Clean from my hand?”—Macbeth.

Henry Plummer, a sketch of whose previous career will appear in a subsequent part of this narrative, came to Montana Territory from Orofino. He and Reeves had there got into a difficulty with another man, and had settled the matter in the way usual in the trade—that is to say, they shot him.

Plummer—who, it seems, had for a long time contemplated a visit to the States—made at once for the River, intending to go down by boat; but finding that he was too late, he came back to Gold Creek, and there met Jack Cleveland, an old acquaintance, and former partner in crime. They made arrangements to pass the winter together at Sun River Farm. Plummer was to attend to the chores about the house, and Jack Cleveland was to get the wood. The worthy couple true to their instincts, did not long remain in harmony, but quarrelled about a young lady, whom Plummer afterwards married. Neither would leave, unless the other went also, and at last they both started, in company, for Bannack.

This town originated from the “Grasshopper Diggings,” which were first discovered in the month of July, by John White and a small party of prospectors, on the Grasshopper Creek, a tributary of the Beaverhead. The discoverer, together with Rodolph Dorsett, was murdered by Charley Kelly, in the month of December, 1863, near the Milk Ranche, on the road from Virginia City to Helena. Wash Stapleton and his party came in a short time after, and were soon joined by others, among whom were W. B. Dance, S. T. Hauser, James Morley, Drury Underwood, F. M. Thomson, N. P. Langford, James Fergus, John Potter, Judge Hoyt and Dr. Hoyt, Chas. St. Clair, David Thompson, Buz Caven, Messrs. Burchett, Morelle, Harby, J. M. Castner, Pat Bray and brother, Sturges, Col. McLean, R. C. Knox, and other well known citizens of Montana. The name, “Bannack,” was given to the settlement, from the Bannack Indians, the lords of the soil. It was the first “mining camp” of any importance, discovered on the eastern slope of the Mountains, and as the stories of its wonderful richness went abroad, hundreds of scattered prospectors flocked in, and before the following Spring, the inhabitants numbered upwards of a thousand.

It is probable that there never was a mining town of the same size that contained more desperadoes and lawless characters, than did Bannack, during the winter of 1862-3. While a majority of the citizens were of the sterling stock, which has ever furnished the true American pioneers, there were great numbers of the most desperate class of roughs and road agents, who had been roving though the mountains, exiles from their former haunts in the mining settlements, from which they had fled to avoid the penalties incurred by the commission of many a fearful crime. These men no sooner heard of the rich mines of Bannack, than they at once made for the new settlement, where, among strangers, ignorant of their crimes, they would be secure from punishment, at least until their true character should become known.

During their journey to Bannack, Cleveland often said, when a little intoxicated, that Plummer was his meat. On their arrival at their destination, they were, in Mountain phrase, “strapped;” that is, they were without money or means; but Cleveland was not thus to be foiled; the practice of his profession furnishing him with ample funds, at the cost of a short ride and a pistol cartridge. In February, 1863, a young man named George Evans, having a considerable sum of money on his person, was hunting stock belonging to William Bates, beyond Buffalo Creek, about eight miles from Bannack, and this man, it is believed, was shot by Cleveland, and robbed, as the murderer—who had no money at the time—was seen riding close to the place, and the next day he had plenty. Evans’ partner, Ed. Hibbert, got a horse from J. M. Castner, and searched for him in vain, returning impressed with the belief that he had frozen to death. In a short time, a herder named Duke, a partner of Jemmy Spence, was also hunting cattle, when he found Evans’ clothes tucked into a badger hole. A body, which, however, was never fully identified, was found naked in the willows, with a shot wound in the right armpit. It seems as if the victim had seen a man about to shoot, and had raised his arm deprecatingly.

Shortly after this, Cleveland came in to Goodrich’s saloon, and said he was CHIEF; that he knew all the d——d scoundrels from the “other side,” and would get even on some of them. A difficulty arose between him and Jeff. Perkins, about some money which the latter owed in the lower country. Jeff. assured him that he had settled the debt, and thereupon Jack said, “Well, if it’s settled, it’s all right;” but he still continued to refer to it, and kept reaching for his pistol. Plummer, who was present, told him that if he did not behave himself, he would take him in hand, for that Jeff. had settled the debt, and he ought to be satisfied. Jeff. went home for his derringers, and while he was absent, Jack Cleveland boastingly declared that he was afraid of none of them. Plummer jumped to his feet instantly, saying, “You d——d son of a b——h, I am tired of this,” and, drawing his pistol, he commenced firing at Cleveland. The first ball lodged in the beam overhead, where it still remains. The second struck him below the belt, and he fell to his knees, grasping wildly at his pistol, and exclaiming, “Plummer, you won’t shoot me when I’m down;” to which Plummer replied, “No you d——d son of a b——h; get up,” and, as he staggered to his feet, he shot him a little above the heart. The bullet, however, glanced on the rib, and went round his body. The next entered below the eye, and lodged in his head. The last missile went between Moore and another man, who was sitting on the bench. As may be supposed the citizen discovered that business called him outside immediately; and, met George Ives, with a pistol in his hand, followed by Reeves, who was similarly accoutred for the summary adjustment of “difficulties.”

Singular enough, it must appear to the inhabitants of settled communities, that a man was being shaved in the saloon at the time, and neither he nor the operator left off business—CUSTOM IS EVERYTHING, and fire-eating is demonstrably an acquired habit.

Ives and Reeves each took Plummer by the arm, and walked down street, asking as they went along: “Will the d——d strangling sons of b——s hang you now?”

Hank Crawford was, at this time, boarding with L. W. Davenport, of Bannack, and was somewhat out of health. His host came into the room, and said that there was a man shot somewhere up town, in a saloon. Crawford immediately went to where the crowd had gathered, and found that such was the fear of the desperadoes, that no one dared to lift the head of the dying man. Hank said aloud, that it was out of the question to leave a man in such a condition, and asked, “Is there no one that will take him home?” Some answered that they had no room; to which he replied, that he had not, either, but he would find a place for him; and, assisted by three others, he carried him to his own lodging—sending a messenger for the doctor.

The unfortunate man lived about three hours. Before his decease, he sent Crawford to Plummer for his blankets. Plummer asked Crawford what Jack had said about him; Crawford told him, “nothing.” “It is well for him,” said Plummer, “or I would have killed the d——d son of a b——h in his bed.” He repeated his question several times, very earnestly. Crawford then informed him that, in answer to numerous inquiries by himself and others, about Cleveland’s connections, he had said, “Poor Jack has got no friends. He has got it, and I guess he can stand it.” Crawford had him decently buried, but he knew, from that time, that Plummer had marked him for destruction, fearing that some of Cleveland’s secrets might have transpired, in which case he was aware that he would surely be hung at the first opportunity.

No action was taken about this murder for some time. It required a succession of horrible outrages to stimulate the citizens to their first feeble parody of justice. Shooting, duelling, and outrage, were from an early date, daily occurrences, in Bannack; and many was the foul deed done, of which no record has been preserved. As an instance of the free and easy state of society at this time, may be mentioned a “shooting scrape” between George Carrhart and George Ives, during the winter of ’62-3. The two men were talking together in the street, close to Carrhart’s cabin. Gradually they seemed to grow angry, and parted, Ives exclaiming aloud, “You d——d son of a b——h, I’ll shoot you,” and ran into a grocery for his revolver. Carrhart stepped into his cabin, and came out first, with his pistol in his hand, which he held by his side, the muzzle pointing downwards. George Ives came out, and turning his back on Carrhart, looked for him in the wrong direction—giving his antagonist a chance of shooting him in the back, if he desired to do so. Carrhart stood still till Ives turned, watching him closely. The instant Ives saw him, he swore an oath, and raising his pistol, let drive, but missed him by an inch or so, the bullet striking the wall of the house, close to which he was standing. Carrhart’s first shot was a miss-fire, and a second shot from Ives struck the ground. Carrhart’s second shot flashed right in Ives’s face, but did no damage, though the ball could hardly have missed more than a hairs’ breadth. Carrhart jumped into the house, and reaching his hand out, fired at his opponent. In the same fashion, his antagonist returned the compliment. This was continued till Ives’s revolver was emptied—Carrhart having one shot left. As Ives walked off to make his escape, Carrhart shot him in the back, near the side. The ball went through, and striking the ground in front of him, knocked up the dust ahead of him. Ives was not to be killed by a shot, and wanted to get another revolver, but Carrhart ran off down the street. Ives cursed him for a coward “shooting a man in the back.” They soon made up their quarrels, and Ives went and lived with Carrhart, on his ranche, for the rest of the winter.

Accidents will happen in the best regulated families, and we give a specimen of “casualties” pertaining to life in Bannack during this delightful period. Dr. Biddle, of Minnesota, and his wife, together with Mr. and Mrs. Short, and their hired man, were quietly sitting round their camp fire on Grasshopper Creek, when J. M. Castner, thinking that a lady in the peculiar situation of Mrs. Biddle would need the shelter of a house, went over to the camp, and sitting down, made his offer of assistance, which was politely acknowledged, but declined by the lady, on the ground that their wagon was very comfortably fitted up. Scarcely were the words uttered, when crack! went a revolver, from the door of a saloon, and the ball went so close to Castner’s ear, that it stung for two or three days. It is stated that he shifted the position of his head with amazing rapidity. Mrs. Biddle nearly fainted and became much excited, trembling with terror. Castner went over to the house, and saw Cyrus Skinner in the act of laying his revolver on the table, at the same time requesting a gentleman who was playing cards to count the balls in it. He at first refused, saying he was busy; but, being pressed, said, after making a hasty inspection, “Well, there are only four.” Skinner replied, “I nearly frightened the —— out of a fellow, over there.” Castner laid his hand on his shoulder, and said, “My friend, you nearly shot Mrs. Biddle.” Skinner declared that he would not have killed a woman “for the world,” and swore that he thought it was a camp of Indians, which would, in his view, have made the matter only an agreeable pastime. He asked Castner to drink, but the generous offer was declined. Probably the ball stuck in his throat. The Doctor accepted the invitation. These courtesies were like an invitation from a Captain to a Midshipman, “No compulsion, only you must.”

A little episode may here be introduced, as an illustration of an easy method of settling debts, mentioned by Shakespeare. The sentiment is the Earl of Warwick’s. The practical enforcement of the doctrine is to be credited in this instance, to Haze Lyons, of the Rocky Mountains, a self-constituted and energetic Receiver-General of all moneys and valuables not too hot or too heavy for transportation by man or horse, at short notice. The “King Maker” says:

“When the debt grows burdensome, and cannot be discharged
A sponge will wipe out all, and cost you nothing.”

The substitute for the “sponge” above alluded to, is, usually, in cases like the following, a revolver, which acts effectually, by “rubbing out” either the debt or the creditor, as circumstances may render desirable. Haze Lyons owed a board bill to a citizen of Bannack, who was informed that he had won $300 or $400 by gambling the night before, and accordingly asked him for it. He replied, “You son of a b——h, if you ask me for that again, I’ll make it unhealthy for you.” The creditor generously refrained from farther unpleasant inquiries, and the parties met again for the first time, face to face, at the gallows, on which Haze expiated his many crimes.

The next anecdote is suggestive of one, among many ways of incidentally expressing dislike of a man’s “style” in business matters. Buck Stinson had gone security for a friend, who levanted; but was pursued and brought back. A mischievous boy had been playing some ridiculous pranks, when his guardian, to whom the debt mentioned was due, spoke to him severely, and ordered him home. Buck at once interfered, telling the guardian that he should not correct the boy. On receiving for answer that it certainly would be done, as it was the duty of the boy’s protector to look after him, he drew his revolver, and thrusting it close to the citizen’s face, saying, “G—d d——n you, I don’t like you very well, any how,” was about to fire, when the latter seized the barrel and threw it up. A struggle ensued, and finding that he couldn’t fire, Stinson wrenched the weapon out of his opponent’s hand, and struck him heavily across the muscles of the neck, but failed to knock him down. The bar-keeper interfering, Stinson let go his hold, and swore he would shoot him; but he was quieted down. The gentleman being warned, made his way home at the double-quick, or faster, and put on his revolver and bowie, which he wore for fifteen days. At the end of this time, Plummer persuaded Stinson to apologize, which he did, and thereafter behaved with civility to that particular man.

The wild lawlessness and the reckless disregard for life which distinguished the outlaws, who had by this time concentrated at Bannack, will appear from the account of the first “Indian trouble.” If the facts here stated do not justify the formation of a Vigilance Committee in Montana, then may God help Uncle Sam’s nephews when they venture west of the River, in search of new diggings. In March, 1863, Charley Reeves, a prominent “clerk of St. Nicholas,” bought a Sheep-eater squaw; but she refused to live with him, alleging that she was ill-treated, and went back to her tribe, who were encamped on the rise of the hill, south of Yankee Flat, about fifty yards to the rear of the street. Reeves went after her, and sought to force her to come back with him, but on his attempting to use violence, an old chief interfered. The two grappled. Reeves, with a sudden effort, broke from him, striking him a blow with his pistol, and, in the scuffle, one barrel was harmlessly discharged.

The next evening, Moore and Reeves, in a state of intoxication, entered Goodrich’s saloon, laying down two double-barrelled shot-guns and four revolvers, on the counter, considerably to the discomfiture of the bar-keeper, who, we believe, would have sold his position very cheap, for cash, at that precise moment, and it is just possible that he might have accepted a good offer “on time.” They declared, while drinking, that if the d——d cowardly white folks on Yankee Flat, were afraid of the Indians, they were not, and that they would soon “set the ball a rolling.” Taking their weapons, they went off to the back of the houses, opposite the camp, and levelling their pieces, they fired into the tepee, wounding one Indian. They returned to the saloon and got three drinks more, boasting of what they had done, and accompanied by William Mitchell, of Minnesota, and two others, they went back, determined to complete their murderous work. The three above named then deliberately poured a volley into the tepee, with fatal effect. Mitchell, whose gun was loaded with an ounce ball and a charge of buckshot, killed a Frenchman named Brissette, who had run up to ascertain the cause of the first firing—the ball striking him in the forehead, and the buckshot wounding him in ten different places. The Indian chief, a lame Indian boy, and a pappoose, were also killed; but the number of the parties who were wounded has never been ascertained. John Burnes escaped with a broken thumb, and a man named Woods was shot in the groin, of which wound he has not yet entirely recovered. This unfortunate pair, like Brissette, had come to see the cause of the shooting, and of the yells of the savages. The murderers being told that they had killed white men, Moore replied, with great SANG FROID, “The d——d sons of b——s had no business there.”

CHAPTER VI.
THE TRIAL.

Desponding fear, of feeble fancies full,
Weak and unmanly, loosens every power.—Thomson.

The indignation of the citizens being aroused by this atrocious and unprovoked massacre, a mass meeting was held the following morning to take some action in the premises. Charley Moore and Reeves hearing of it, started early in the morning, on foot, towards Rattlesnake, Henry Plummer preceding them on horseback. Sentries were then posted all round the town, to prevent egress, volunteers were called for, to pursue the criminals, and Messrs. Lear, Higgings, O. J. Rockwell and Davenport at once followed on their track, coming up with them where they had hidden, in a thicket of brush, near the creek. The daylight was beginning to fade, and the cold was intense when a reinforcement arrived, on which the fugitives came out, delivered themselves up, and were conducted back to Bannack.

Plummer was tried and honorably acquitted, on account of Cleveland’s threats. Mitchell was banished, but he hid around the town for awhile, and never went away. Reeves and Moore were next tried. Mr. Rheem had promised the evening before to conduct the prosecution, and Judge Smith had undertaken the defense, when on the morning of the trial, Mr. Rheem announced that he was retained for the defense. This left the people without any lawyer or prosecutor. Mr. Coply at last undertook the case, but his talents not lying in that direction, he was not successful as an advocate. Judge Hoyt, from St. Paul, was elected Judge, and Hank Crawford, Sheriff. Owing to the peculiarly divided state of public opinion, it seemed almost impossible to select an impartial jury from the neighborhood, and therefore a messenger was sent to Godfrey’s Canon, where N. P. Langford, R. C. Knox, A. Godfrey, and others, were engaged in erecting a saw-mill, requesting them to come down to Bannack and sit on the jury. Messrs. Langford and Godfrey came down at once, to be ready for the trial the next day. The assembly of citizens numbered about five or six hundred, and to them the question was put, “Whether the prisoners should be tried by the people EN MASSE, or by a selected jury.” Some leading men advocated the first plan. N. P. Langford and several prominent residents took the other side, and argued the necessity for a jury. After several hours’ discussion, a jury was ordered, and the trial proceeded. At the conclusion of the evidence and argument, the case was given to the jury without any charge. The Judge also informed them that if they found the prisoners guilty, they must sentence them. At the first ballot, the vote stood: For death, 1; against it, 11. The question of the prisoners’ GUILT admitted of no denial. N. P. Langford alone voted for the penalty of death. A sealed verdict of banishment and confiscation of property was ultimately handed to the Judge, late in the evening. Moore and Reeves were banished from the Territory, but were permitted to stay at Deer Lodge till the Range would be passable.

In the morning, the Court again met, and the Judge informed the people that he had received the verdict, which he would now hand back to the foreman to read. Mr. Langford accordingly read it aloud.

From that time forward, a feeling of the bitterest hostility was manifested by the friends of Moore, Reeves and Mitchell toward all who were prominently connected with the proceedings.

During the trial, the roughs would swagger into the space allotted for the Judge and Jury, giving utterance to clearly understood threats, such as, “I’d like to see the G—d d——d Jury that would dare to hang Charley Reeves or Bill Moore,” etc., etc., which doubtless had fully as much weight with the Jury as the evidence had. The pretext of the prisoners that the Indians had killed some whites, friends of theirs, in ’49, while going to California, was accepted by the majority of the jurors as some sort of justification; but the truth is, they were afraid of their lives—and, it must be confessed, not without apparent reason.

To the delivery of this unfortunate verdict may be attributed the ascendancy of the roughs. They thought the people were afraid of them. Had the question been left to old Californians or experienced miners, Plummer, Reeves and Moore would have been hanged, and much bloodshed and suffering would have been thereby prevented. No organization of the Road Agents would have been possible.

CHAPTER VII.
PLUMMER VERSUS CRAWFORD.

“I had rather chop this hand off at a blow
And with the other fling it at thy face,
Than bear so low a sail, to strike to thee.”
Shakspeare—Henry VI.

Crawford, who was appointed Sheriff at the trial of Moore and Reeves, tendered his resignation on two or three different occasions; but was induced to continue in office by the strongest representations of his friends. They promised to stand by him in the execution of his duty, and to remunerate him for his loss of time and money. The arms taken from Plummer, Reeves and Mitchell were sold by Crawford to defray expenses.

Popular sentiment is shifting and uncertain as a quicksand. Shortly after this, “Old Tex,” one of the gang, collected a miners’ meeting, and at it, it was resolved to give the thieves their arms, Plummer and Tex claiming them as their property. The Sheriff had to go and get them, paying, at the same time, all expenses, including in the list even the board of the prisoners. For his services not a cent was ever paid to him. Popular institutions are of divine origin. Government by the people EN MASSE is the acme of absurdity.

Cleveland had three horses at the time of his death. One was at a Ranch at Bannack, and two were down on Big Hole. Crawford called two meetings, and was authorized to seize Cleveland’s property and sell it, in order to reimburse himself for his outlay, which was both considerable in amount and various in detail, and repay himself for his outlay and expenses of various kinds. He went to old Tex who said that Jack Cleveland had a partner, named Terwilliger, (another of the gang) who was absent, and that he had better leave them till he came back. One day Crawford wanted to go to Beaverhead, and wished to take one of the horses to ride. Tex said it would be wrong to do so. In a day or two after, Crawford saw the horse in town, and asking Tex if it was not the animal. He said “No, it was not;” but Crawford, doubting his statement, inquired of a man that he knew was perfectly well informed on the subject, and found that it was as he supposed, and that the ranchman had brought it in for Tex to ride during the journey he contemplated, with the intention of meeting Terwilliger. Crawford ordered the horse back, and desired that it should not be given to any one. The man took it as directed. When the men were banished, Plummer went to the Ranch, took the horse and rode it, when escorting the culprits out of town. He then brought it back. Crawford who had charge of the horse, asked Hunter if Tex had taken it. He said “no.”

The next evening, Crawford and some acquaintances went down to the bakery to take a drink, and there met Plummer, who accused him of ordering the horse to be kept from him, which he denied, and said he never mentioned his name. Hunter being called by Plummer confirmed the statement. He also observed, that he thought that as Plummer had killed the man, he need not wish to take his money and his goods also. Plummer then remarked that Bill Hunter did not stand to what he had said, and left the house. He had dared Crawford to remain and face Hunter’s testimony, expecting to raise a row and shoot him. Crawford accepted the challenge, and, surrounded by his friends, with their hands on their six shooters, awaited his coming. If he had moved his hand to his pistol, he would have died on the spot, and knowing this, he cooled off.

The next day he sent word to Crawford, by an old mountaineer, that he had been wrongly informed, and that he wished to meet him as a friend. He replied that he had been abused without cause, and that, if he wanted to see him, he must come himself, as he was not going to accept of such apologies by deputy. Plummer sent word two or three times, to Hank, in the same way, and received the same reply; till at last some of the boys brought them together, and they shook hands, Plummer declaring that he desired his friendship ever after.

In a few days, Hank happened to be in a saloon, talking to a man who had been fighting, when a suspicious looking individual came up to him, and asked what he was talking about. He replied that it was none of his business. The man retorted with a challenge to fight with pistols. Hank said, “You have no odds of me with a pistol.” The fellow offered to fight with fists. Hank agreed, and seeing that the man had no belt on, took off his own, and laid his pistol in, on the bar. The man stepped back into a dark corner, and Crawford going up, slapped him across the face. He instantly leveled a six shooter at Crawford, which he had concealed; but Hank was too quick, and catching him by the throat and hand, disarmed him. Plummer joined the man, and together, they wrested the pistol from his hand, and made a rush at him. Hank and Harry Flegger, however, kept the pistol in spite of them. Harry fetched his friend out, saying, “Come on Hank; this is no place for you; they are set on murdering you, any way.” He then escorted him home. The owner of the saloon told Crawford, afterwards, that it was all a plot. That the scheme was to entice him out to fight with pistols, and that the gang of Plummer’s friends were ready with double-barrelled shot-guns, to kill him, as soon as he appeared.

Everything went on quietly for a few days, when Hank found he should have to start for Deer Lodge, after cattle. Plummer told him that he was going to Benton. Hank asked him to wait a day or two, and he would go with him; but Plummer started on Monday morning, with George Carrhart, before Hank’s horses came in. When the animals were brought in, Hank found that private business would detain him, and accordingly sent his butcher in his place. The next day Plummer, finding that he was not going, stopped at Big Hole, and came back. Hank afterwards learned that Plummer went out to catch him on the road, three different times, but, fortunately, missed him.

During the week, Bill Hunter came to Hank, and pretended that he had said something against him. To this Hank replied, that he knew what he was after, and added, “If you want anything, you can get it right straight along.” Not being able “to get the drop on him,” (in mountain phrase) and finding that he could not intimidate him, he turned and went off, never afterwards speaking to Hank.

On the following Sunday, Plummer came into a saloon where Hank was conversing with George Purkins, and, addressing the latter, said, “George, there’s a little matter between you and Hank that’s got to be settled.” Hank said, “Well, I don’t know what it can be,” and laughed. Plummer observed, “You needn’t laugh, G—d d——n you. It’s got to be settled.” Turning to Purkins, he stated that he and Crawford had said he was after a squaw, and had tried to court “Catharine.” He commenced to abuse Purkins and telling him to “come out,” and that he was “a cowardly son of a b——h.” He also declared that he could “lick” both him and Hank Crawford. George said that he was a coward, and no fighting man, and that he would not go out of doors with any body. Plummer gave the same challenge to Hank, and received for a reply, that he was not afraid to go out with any man, and that he did not believe one man was made to scare another. Plummer said, “come on,” and started ahead of Hank towards the street. Hank walked quite close up to him, on his guard all the time, and Plummer at once said, “Now pull your pistol.” Hank refused, saying, “I’ll pull no pistol; I never pulled a pistol on a man, and you’ll not be the first.” He then offered to fight him in any other way. “I’m no pistol shot,” he added, “and you would not do it if you hadn’t the advantage.” Plummer said, “If you don’t pull your pistol, I’ll shoot you like a sheep.” Hank quietly laid his hand on his shoulder, and, fixing his eyes on him, said slowly and firmly, “If that’s what you want, the quicker you do it, the better for you,” and turning round, walked off. Plummer dared not shoot without first raising a fuss, knowing that he would be hung. During the altercation above narrated, Hank had kept close to Plummer ready for a struggle, in case he offered to draw his pistol, well knowing that his man was the best and quickest shot in the mountains; and that if he had accepted his challenge, long before he could have handled his own revolver, three or four balls would have passed through his body. The two men understood one another, at parting. They looked into each other’s eyes. They were mountaineers, and each man read, in his opponent’s face, “Kill me, or I’ll kill you.” Plummer believed that Hank had his secret, and one or the other must therefore die.

Hank went, at once, to his boarding house, and taking his double-barrelled shot gun, prepared to go out, intending to find and kill Plummer at sight. He was perfectly aware that all attempts at pacification would be understood as indications of cowardice, and would render his death a mere question of the goodness of Plummer’s ammunition. Friends, however, interfered, and Hank could not get away till after they left, late in the evening.

By the way, is it not rather remarkable, that if a man has a few friends round him, and he happens to become involved in a fight, the aforesaid sympathizers, instead of restraining his antagonist, generally hold HIM, and wrestle all the strength out of him, frequently enabling his opponent to strike him while in the grasp of his officious backers? A change of the usual programme would be attended with beneficial results, in nine cases out of ten. Another suggestion we have to make, with a view to preventing actual hostilities, and that is, that when a man raves and tears, shouting, “let go,” “let me at him,” “hold my shirt while I pull off my coat,” or makes other bellicose requests, an instant compliance with his demands will at once prevent a fight. If two men, also, are abusing one another, in loud and foul language, the way to prevent blows is to seize hold of them and commencing to strip them for a fight, form a ring. This is commonly a settler. No amount of coin could coax a battle out of them. Such is our experience of all the loud mouthed brigade. Men that mean “fight” may hiss a few muttered anathemas, through clenched teeth; but they seldom talk much, and never bandy slang.

Hank started and hunted industriously for Plummer, who was himself similarly employed, but they did not happen to meet.

The next morning, Hank’s friends endeavored to prevail upon him to stay within doors until noon; but it was of no avail. He knew what was before him, and that it must be settled, one way or the other. Report came to him, that Plummer was about to leave town, which at once put him on his guard. The attempt to ensnare him into a fatal carelessness was too evident.

Taking his gun, he went up town, to the house of a friend—Buz Caven. He borrowed Buz’s rifle, without remark, and stood prepared for emergencies. After waiting some time, he went down to the butcher’s shop which he kept, and saw Plummer frequently; but he always had somebody close beside him, so that, without endangering another man’s life, Hank could not fire.

He finally went out of sight, and sent a man to compromise, saying they would agree to meet as strangers. He would never speak to Crawford, and Crawford should never address him. Hank was too wary to fall into the trap. He sent word back to Plummer that he had broken his word once, and that his pledge of honor was no more than the wind, to him; that one or the other had to suffer or leave.

A friend came to tell Hank that they were making arrangements to shoot him in his own door, out of a house on the other side of the street. Hank kept out of the door, and about noon, a lady, keeping a restaurant, called to him to come and get a dish of coffee. He went over without a gun. While he was drinking the coffee, Plummer, armed with a double-barrelled gun, walked opposite to his shop door, watching for a shot. A friend, Frank Ray, brought Hank a rifle. He instantly leveled at Plummer, and fired. The ball broke his arm. His friends gathered round him, and he said, “some son of a b——h has shot me.” He was then carried off. He sent Hank a challenge to meet him in fifteen days; but he paid no attention to a broken armed man’s challenge, fifteen days ahead. In two days after, while Hank was in Meninghall’s store, George Carrhart came in. Hank saw there was mischief in his look, and went up to him at once, saying, “Now, George, I know what you want. You had better go slow.” Stickney got close to him on the other side, and repeated the caution. After a while he avowed that he came to kill him; but, on hearing his story, he pulled open his coat, showing his pistol ready in the band of his pants, and declared at the same time that he would be his friend. Another party organized to come down and shoot Crawford, but failed to carry out their intention. Some of the citizens, hearing of this, offered to shoot or hang Plummer, if Crawford would go with them; but he refused, and said he would take care of himself. On the 13th of March, he started for Wisconsin, riding on horseback to Fort Benton. He was followed by three men, but they never came up with him, and taking boat at the river, he arrived safely at home. It was his intention to come out in the Fall, and his brothers sent him money for that purpose; but the coach was robbed, and all the letters taken. The money, unfortunately, shared the fate of the mail. Crawford was lately living at Virginia City—having returned shortly after his marriage in the States.

The account of the troubles of one man, which we have given above, has been inserted with the object of showing the state of society which could permit such openly planned and persistent outrages, and which necessitated such a method of defense. Crawford, or any of the others, might as well have applied to the Emperor of China, for redress or protection, as to any civil official.

The ball which struck Plummer in the arm ran down his bone, and lodged in the wrist. After his execution, it was found brightened by the constant friction of the joint. His pistol hand being injured for belligerent purposes, though the limb was saved by the skill of the attendant physician—Plummer practiced assiduously at drawing and shooting with his left; attaining considerable proficiency; but he never equalled the deadly activity and precision he had acquired with the other hand, which he still preferred to use.

CHAPTER VIII.
A CALENDAR OF CRIMES.

The murderer’s curse, the dead man’s fixed still glare,
And fears and death’s cold sweat, they all are there.

Others connected with the mock trial which we have described, fared badly, being waylaid and cruelly beaten. Mr. Ellis, the principal witness was dogged every time he went to, or returning from his claim, and finally was compelled to return to the States. He was followed to Fort Benton, a distance of three hundred miles, escaping death at the hands of his pursuers by slipping away secretly down the river, and hiding till the steamer came past, when springing joyfully from his place of concealment, and hailing her, he was taken on board.

N. P. Langford was an especial object of hatred to them. They had counted on his favoring them, at the trial, because he voted for a jury; but when they found that his ballot was cast for the death penalty, they vowed vengeance against him, and a gentleman, his particular friend. The latter could never go to his claim without a loaded gun and a revolver. Once, the roughs had the plot all completed for the assassination of Mr. Langford; but accident revealed their preparations and intentions, and, through the timely warning of a friend, the conspiracy failed. The combination of the comrades of the two gentlemen, which embraced the order loving of the community, was too strong to be openly defied by the roughs. The danger of sudden surprise and assassination was, however, continued.

One day, as Langford’s friends were sauntering down Main street, he saw Plummer approaching. He immediately drew a small bowie knife from his belt, and began to whittle a billet of wood, which he picked up for the purpose. Soon he came face to face with Plummer, who, looking with suspicious intelligence at the weapon, asked: “Why do you begin to whittle when you meet me?” The citizen regarding him with a stern and determined look, promptly answered: “Mr. Plummer, you know what opinion I hold concerning you and your friends, and I don’t never intend to let you get the advantage of me. I don’t want to be shot down like a dog.”

Finding that Mitchell had not gone away from town, a great many citizens thought it would be the height of injustice to keep Moore and Reeves away at Hell Gate, where the snow prevented the passage of the mountains, and, on Sunday, a miners’ meeting was called, at which their sentence was remitted, by vote, and they accordingly came back.

An attempt had also been made, before this to rob the store of Messrs. Higgins & Worden, of Deer Lodge; but the proprietors got word in time to hide the safe.

The Walla Walla Express was robbed by the band of Road Agents. Plummer directed this affair, and it is thought Long John had some share in it. The men actually engaged in it are not known.

A Mr. Davenport and his wife were going to Benton, from Bannack, intending to proceed by steamboat to the States. While taking a lunch at Rattlesnake, a man masked in black suddenly came out of the willows, near which they were camped, and demanded their money. Davenport said he had none; the fellow laughed, and replied that his wife had, and named the amount. A slight application of a Colt’s corkscrew, which was pointed at Davenport’s head, brought forth his money, and he was ordered, on pain of death, not to go back to Bannack at once; but to leave his wife somewhere ahead. This Davenport promised, and performed, after which he returned, and obtained some money from the citizens to assist him in his necessity. His wife proceeded to the States, where she arrived in safety. Davenport never knew who robbed him.

The house of a Frenchman, named Le Grau, who kept a bakery and blacksmith shop at the back of Main street, Bannack, was broken into, and everything that could be found was stolen, after which the robbers threw the curtains into a heap and tried to burn down the house, but they failed in this. The greater part of the owner’s money was, fortunately, hidden, and that they missed.

We have before spoken of Geo. Carrhart. He was a remarkably handsome man, well educated, and it has been asserted that he was a member of one of the Western Legislatures. His manners were those of a gentleman, when he was sober; but an unfortunate love of whiskey had destroyed him. On one or two occasions, when inebriated, he had ridden up and down the street, with a shot-gun in his hand, threatening everybody. He was extremely generous to a friend, and would make him a present of a horse, an interest in a Ranch, or indeed, of anything that he thought he needed. His fondness for intoxicating liquors threw him into bad company, and caused his death.

One day, while sleeping in Skinner’s saloon, a young man of acknowledged courage, named Dick Sap, was playing “poker” with George Banefield, a gambler, whose love of money was considerably in excess of his veneration for the eighth commandment. For the purpose of making a “flush,” this worthy stole a card. Sap at once accused him of cheating, on which he jumped up, drew his revolver, and leveled at Sap, who was unarmed. A friend supplied the necessary weapon, and quick as thought, Sap and Banefield exchanged all their shots, though, strange to say, without effect, so far as they were personally concerned.

The quarrel was arranged after some little time, and then it was found that Buz Caven’s dog, “Toodles,” which was under the table, had been struck by three balls, and lay there dead. A groan from Carrhart attracted attention, and his friends looking at him, discovered that he had been shot through the bowels, accidentally, by Banefield. Instantly Moore called to Reeves and Forbes, who were present, “Boys, they have shot Carrhart; let’s kill them,” and raising his pistol, he let fly twice at Sap’s head. Sap threw up his hands, having no weapon, and the balls came so close that they cut one little finger badly, and just grazed the other hand. The road agents fired promiscuously into the retreating crowd, one ball wounding a young man, Goliath Reilly, passing through his heel. Banefield was shot below the knee, and felt his leg numbed and useless. He, however, dragged himself away to a place of security, and was attended by a skillful physician; but, refusing to submit to amputation, he died of mortification.

In proof of the insecurity of life and property in places where such desperadoes as Plummer, Stinson, Ray and Skinner make their headquarters, the following incident may be cited:

Late in the Spring of ’63, Winnemuck, a warrior chief of the Bannacks, had come in with his band, and had camped in the brush, about three-fourth of a mile above the town. Skinner and the roughs called a meeting, and organized a band for the purpose of attacking and murdering the whole tribe. The leaders, however, got so drunk that the citizens became ashamed, and drooped off by degrees, till they were so few that the enterprise was abandoned. A half-breed had in the meantime, warned Winnemuck, and the wily old warrior lost no time in preparing for the reception of the party. He sent his squaws and pappooses to the rear, and posted his warriors, to the number of three or four hundred, on the right side of a canyon, in such a position that he could have slaughtered the whole command at his ease. This he fully intended to do, if attacked, and also to have sacked the town and killed every white in it. This would have been an achievement requiring no extraordinary effort, and had not the drunkenness of the outlaws defeated their murderous purpose, would undoubtedly have been accomplished. In fact, the men whom the Vigilantes afterwards executed, were ripe for any villainy, being Godless, fearless, worthless, and a terror to the community.

In June of the same year, the report came in that Joe Carrigan, William Mitchell, Joe Brown, Smith, Indian Dick, and four others had been killed by the Indians, whom they had pursued to recover stolen stock, and that overtaking them, they had dismounted and fired into their tepees. The Indians attacked them when their pieces were emptied, killed the whole nine, and took their stock.

Old Snag, a friendly chief, came into Bannack with his band, immediately after this report. One of the tribe—a brother-in-law of Johnny Grant, of Deer Lodge—was fired at by Haze Lyons, to empty his revolver, for luck, on general principles, or for his pony—it is uncertain which. A number of citizens, thinking it was an Indian fight, ran out, and joined in the shooting. The savage jumped from his horse, and, throwing down his blanket, ran for his life, shouting “Good Indian.” A shot wounded him in the hip. (His horse’s leg was broken.) But, though badly hurt, he climbed up the mountain and got away, still shouting as he ran, “Good Indian,” meaning that he was friendly to the whites. Carroll, a citizen of Bannack, had a little Indian girl living with him, and Snag had called in to see her. Carroll witnessed the shooting we have described, and running in, he informed Snag, bidding him and his son ride off for their lives. The son ran out and jumped on his horse. Old Snag stood in front of the door, on the edge of the ditch, leaning upon his gun, which was in a sole leather case. He had his lariet in his hand, and was talking to his daughter, Jemmy Spence’s squaw, named Catherine. Buck Stinson, without saying a word, walking to within four feet of him, and drawing his revolver, shot him in the side. The Indian raised his right hand and said, “Oh! don’t.” The answer was a ball in the neck, accompanied by the remark, enveloped in oaths, “I’ll teach you to kill whites,” and then again he shot him through the head. He was dead when the first citizen attracted by the firing, ran up. Carroll, who was standing at the door, called out, “Oh don’t shoot into the house; you’ll kill my folks.” Stinson turned quickly upon him and roared out, with a volley of curses, topped off with the customary expletive form of address adopted by the roughs, “Put in your head, or I’ll shoot the top of it off.” Cyrus Skinner came up and scalped the Indian. The band scattered in flight. One who was behind, being wounded, plunged into the creek, seeking to escape, but was killed as he crawled up the bank, and fell among the willows. He was also scalped. The remainder of them got away, and the chief’s son, checking his horse at a distance, waved to the men who had killed his father to come on for a fight, but the bullets beginning to cut the ground about him, he turned his horse and fled.

While the firing was going on, two ladies were preparing for a grand ball supper in a house adjoining the scene of the murder of Snag. The husband of one of them being absent, cutting house logs among the timber, his wife, alarmed for his safety, ran out with her arms and fingers extended with soft paste. She jumped the ditch at a bound, her hair streaming in the wind, and shouted aloud, “Where’s Mr. ——? Will nobody fetch me my husband?” We are happy to relate that the object of her tender solicitude turned up uninjured, and if he was not grateful for this display of affection, we submit to the ladies, without any fear of contradiction, that he must be a monster.

The scalp of old Snag, the butchered chief, now hangs in a Banking House, in Salt Lake City.

We have recorded a few, among many, of the crimes and outrages that were daily committed in Bannack. The account is purposely literal and exact. It is not pleasant to write of blasphemous and indecent language, or to record foul and horrible crimes; but as the anatomist must not shrink from the corpse, which taints the air, as he investigates the symptoms and examines the results of disease, so, the historian must either tell the truth for the instruction of mankind, or sink to the level of a mercenary pander, who writes, not to inform the people, but to enrich himself.

CHAPTER IX.
PERILS OF THE ROAD.

“I’ll read you matter deep and dangerous,
As full of peril and adventurous spirit,
As to o’erwalk a current, roaring loud,
On the unsteadfast footing of a spear.”—Shak.

On the 14th day of November, 1863, Sam. T. Hauser, and N. P. Langford started for the States, in company with seven or eight freighters. Owing to some delay in their preparations, they were not ready to start at the hour proposed (twelve o’clock P. M.) and after considerable urging, they prevailed upon one of the freighters to delay his departure till five o’clock P. M. representing to him that by driving during part of the night, they would be enabled to overtake the rest of the train at Horse Prairie, where they were to camp for the night. These arrangements were all made at the store of George Chrisman, where Plummer had his office, and consequently their plans for departure were all known to this arch-villain.

During that afternoon, it was reported in Bannack that a silver lode had been discovered, and Plummer, whose residence in Nevada had given him some reputation as a judge of silver ores, was requested to go out and examine it. Plummer had, on several occasions, been sent for to go out and make minute examinations, and it had never been surmised that his errands on these occasions were different from what they purported to be. This notice to Plummer that a “silver lode” had been discovered, was the signal that the occasion demanded the presence of the chief of the gang, who was needed to head some marauding expedition that required a skillful leader, and promised a rich booty as the reward of success. Plummer always obeyed it, and in this instance, left Bannack a little while after noon, taking a northerly direction, towards Rattlesnake; but, after getting out of town, he changed his course and went south, towards Horse Prairie.

Before leaving Bannack, he presented Mr. Hauser with a woolen scarf, telling him that he would “find it useful on the journey these cold nights.”

The two gentlemen did not complete their arrangements for starting till half past seven in the evening; and, as they were about leaving Hauser’s cabin, a splash, caused by the fall of some heavy body in the water, and calls for assistance were heard from the brow of the hill, south of Bannack. Upon going to the spot, it was found that Henry Tilden, in attempting to cross the Bannack Ditch, had missed the bridge, and his horse had fallen upon him in the water. On being relieved from his dangerous situation, he went to the house of Judge (now Governor) Edgerton, and reported that he had been robbed by three men—one of whom was Plummer—between Horse Prairie and Bannack. After he had detailed the circumstances, the greatest anxiety was felt for the safety of Messrs. Langford and Hauser, who, it was generally supposed had started at five o’clock on the same road.

The unconscious wayfarers, however, knew nothing of the matter, but they were, nevertheless, on the alert all the time. Hauser had that morning communicated to his friend Langford, his suspicion that they were being watched, and would be followed by the road agents, with the intention of plundering them, and while Langford was loading his gun with twelve revolver balls in each barrel, George Dart asked him why he was “filling the gun-barrel so full of lead;” to which Langford replied, that if they had any trouble with the road agents, it would be on that night. So well satisfied were they that an attack upon them, was contemplated, that they carried their guns in their hands, ready cocked, throughout the whole journey to Horse Prairie, a distance of twelve miles, but they saw nothing of the ruffians who robbed young Tilden.

It is supposed that Plummer and his gang had concluded that the non-appearance of the party was owing to the knowledge of what had happened in the afternoon, and that they were not coming out at all, that night. This is the more probable, from the fact that Tilden arrived home in time to have communicated the story of his robbery to them before they started, and the freighter with whom they took passage had told them that morning, in the presence of Plummer, that he would leave them behind if they were not ready to start by five o’clock P. M. It is not to be thought that Plummer would have risked a chance of missing them, by robbing Tilden of so small an amount as $10, unless he had felt sure that they would start at the time proposed. It is also likely that, as his intended victims did not make their appearance, he feared that the citizens of Bannack might turn out in search of the Road Agents who had attacked Tilden, and that it would be prudent to return home by a circuitous route, which he did. One thing is certain. When they missed them, Plummer went, in hot haste, to Langford’s boarding house, to inquire whether he was gone, and on receiving an answer in the affirmative, rode off at once in pursuit.

In the wagon with Langford and Hauser, was a third passenger—a stranger to the rest of the party—who had sent forward his blankets by one of the vehicles which left at noon, and on his arrival at camp, he found them appropriated by some of the party, who had given up all ideas of seeing the others before morning, and had laid down for the night.

Rather than disturb the sleepers, Langford directed his fellow traveller, who was in delicate health, to occupy the wagon with Hauser, while he himself took a buffalo robe and made a bedstead of mother earth.

The night was a cold one, and becoming chilled through Langford arose and at first walked briskly up and down by the camp, in order to warm himself. After awhile, he turned his steps towards the creek, which was about one hundred and fifty yards distant, but with the instinctive caution engendered by a residence in the mountains, he armed himself with his trusty “double-barrel,” and then, with his thoughts wandering to other scenes and other days, he slowly sauntered by the rippling waters.

His musings were brought to a sudden close by the murmur of voices, born on the breeze, accompanied by the well known tramp of horses at speed. The banks of the rivulet were lined with willows, and lay in deep shadow, except where an opening in the thicket disclosed the prairie that lay beyond, sleeping peacefully in the moonlight. Drawing aside the bushes he saw three mounted men in the act of passing one of these avenues, at the gallop. Roused to a sense of danger, he cocked his gun and followed them down stream, to a place where an interval between the thickets that lined both sides of the creek gave him a good sight of the night rangers, and stood in full view, his piece lying in the hollow of his hand, ready for instant service.

As soon as he emerged from the shelter of the willows, and the horsemen became aware of his presence, they stopped for a few moments, and then bore away down the valley, determined to see the end of the matter, and having the brush for cover, while his friends were still within hail, if needed, the watcher pushed on for about two hundred yards and wading to the other bank, he had no sooner reached the top, than he saw four men at that moment mounting their horses. No sooner did they observe him than they drove their spurs into their horses’ flanks, and started on a run for Bannack. These men were Plummer, Buck Stinson, Ned Ray and George Ives, who, on their return to the town by another road, after the robbery of Tilden, having found, as before related, that Langford and Hauser had really gone—followed at once upon their track.

But for the providential circumstances connected with the chance appropriation of the blankets, and the consequent sleeping of Langford on the ground, together with his accidental appearance with his gun in his hand, as if on guard—the whole party would have been murdered, as it was known to their pursuers that they had a considerable amount of treasure with them.

The scarf which Plummer presented to Hauser was given for the purpose of enabling the cunning robber to identify his man by night.

It is a somewhat singular coincidence that Plummer was hung on the next birth day of Hauser, (the 10th of January, 1864.)

The party proceeded on their journey without interruption, and on their arrival at Salt Lake City, they were besieged by their acquaintances with inquiries concerning several parties who were known to have preceded them on the road thither by about a week; but the unfortunate objects of their solicitude never reached their destination, or were afterwards heard of. They sleep in bloody graves; but where, how, and when they met their death, at the hands of the Road Agents, will probably never be known. The fate that could not be avoided was, nevertheless avenged.

CHAPTER X.
THE REPULSE.

“Though few the numbers—theirs the strife,
That neither spares nor speaks for life.”—Byron.

In the present and succeeding chapters, will be found accounts of actual experiences with Road Agents, in the practice of their profession. The exact chronological order of the narrative has, in these cases, been broken in upon, that the reader may have a correct notion of what an attack by Road Agents usually was. We shall show at a future time what it too often became when bloodshed was added to rapine. As the facts related are isolated, the story is not injured by the slight anachronism.

About three weeks after the occurrences recorded in the last chapter, M. S. Moody, (Milt Moody) with three wagons started, in company with a train of packers, for Salt Lake City. Among the later were John McCormick, Billy Sloan, J. S. Rockfellow, J. M. Bozeman, Henry Branson and M. V. Jones.

In the entire caravan there was probably from $75,000 to $80,000 in gold, and it must not be supposed that such a splendid prize could escape the lynx-eyed vigilance of the Road Agents.

Plummer engaged Dutch John and Steve Marshland for the job, and his selection was not a bad one, so far as Dutch John was concerned, for a more courageous, stalwart or reckless desperado never threw spurs on the flanks of a cayuse, or cried “Halt!” to a true man. Steve Marshland was a bold fellow when once in action; but he preferred what mountaineers call a “soft thing,” to an open onslaught. This unprofessional weakness not only saved the lives of several whom we are proud to call friends, but ensured his own and his friends capture and death, at the hands of the Vigilantes.

In Black Tail Deer Canyon, the party were seated at breakfast, close to a sharp turn in the road, when they heard two men conversing, close at hand, but hidden by the brush. Says the “First Robber,” “You take my revolver and I’ll take yours, and you come on right after me.” Every man found his gun between his knees in less than no time, and not a few discovered that their revolvers were cocked. Pulsation became more active, and heads were “dressed” towards the corner. In a few moments, Dutch John and Steve Marshland rode round the bend, with their shot-guns ready. On seeing the party prepared to receive them, they looked confused, and reined up. Steve Marshland recognized Billy Sloan, and called out, “How do you do, Mr. Sloan?” to which Billy replied, “Very well, THANK YOU.” The last two words have been a trouble to Sloan ever since, being too figurative for his conscience. By way of excuse for their presence, the Road Agents asked if the party had seen any horses, and whether they had any loose stock, saying that they had been informed by some half-breeds that the animals which they claimed to be lost had been with their train. A decided negative being vouchsafed, they rode on.

The Robbers did not expect to come upon them so soon, and were not masked. But for this fact, and the sight of the weapons on hand for use, if required, the train would have been relieved of the responsibility attaching to freighting treasure in those days, without any delay.

Little did the party imagine that the safety of their property and their lives hung upon a thread, and that, the evening before, the “prudence” of Steve Marshland had saved six or eight of the party from unexpected death. Yet so it was. Wagner and Marshland had followed their trail, and hitching their steeds to the bush, with their double-barrelled guns loaded with buckshot, and at full cock, they crawled up to within fifteen feet of the camp, and leisurely surveyed them by the light of the fire. The travellers lay around in perfect ignorance of the proximity of the Road Agents; their guns were everywhere but where they ought to be, and without a sentry to warn them of the approach of danger, they carelessly exposed themselves to death, and their property to seizure.

Wagner’s proposal was that he and Marshland should select their men, and kill four with their shot-guns; that then they should move quickly around, and keep up a rapid fire with their revolvers, shouting loudly at the same time, to make them believe that they were attacked by a large concealed force. There was no fear of their shooting away all their charges, as the arms of the men who would inevitably fall would be at their disposal, and the chances were a hundred to one that the remainder would take to flight, and leave their treasure—for a considerable time, at all events—within reach of the robbers. Steve, however, “backed down,” and the attack was deferred till the next day.

It was the custom of the packers to ride ahead of the train towards evening, in order to select a camping place, and it was while the packers were thus separated from the train that the attack on the wagons took place.

On top of the Divide, between Red Rock and Junction, the robbers rode up to the wagons, called on them to halt, and gathering the drivers together, Dutch John sat on his horse, covering them with his shot-gun, while Steve dismounted and searched both them and their wagons.

Moody had slipped a revolver into his boot, which was not detected; $100 in greenbacks, which were in his shirt pocket, were also unnoticed. The material wealth of Kit Erskine and his comrade driver, appeared to be represented by half a plug of tobacco, for the preservation of which Kit pleaded; but Steve said it was “Just what he wanted,” and appropriated it forthwith.

After attending to the men, Steve went for the wagons, which he searched, cutting open the carpet sacks, and found $1,500 in treasury notes; but he missed the gold, which was packed on the horses, in cantinas. In the hind wagon was a sick man, named Kennedy, with his comrade, Lank Forbes; but the nerves of the first mentioned gentleman was so unstrung that he could not pull trigger, when Steve climbed up and drew the curtain. Not so with Forbes. He let drive and wounded Steve in the breast. With an oath and a yell, Steve fell to his knees, but recovered, and jumping down from the wagon again fell, but rose and made, afoot, for the tall timber, at an amazing speed. The noise of the shot frightened Dutch John’s horse, which reared as John discharged both barrels at the teamsters, and the lead whizzed past, just over their heads, Moody dropped his hand to his boot, and seizing the revolver, opened fire on Dutch John, who endeavored to increase the distance between him and the wagons, to the best of his horse’s ability.

Three balls were sent after him, one of which took effect in his shoulder. Had Moody jumped on Marshland’s horse and pursued him, he could have killed him easily, as the shot gun was at his saddle bow. These reflections, and suggestions, however, occur more readily to a man sitting in an easy chair, than to the majority of the unfortunate individuals who happen to be attacked by masked highwaymen.

John’s wound and Marshland’s were proof conclusive of their guilt, when they were arrested. John made for Bannack and was nursed there. Steve Marshland was taken care of at Deer Lodge.

The packers wondered what had become of the wagons, and, though their anxiety was relieved, yet their astonishment was increased, when, about 8 o’clock P. M. Moody rode up and informed them that his train had been attacked by Road Agents, who had been repulsed and wounded.

Steve’s horse, arms and equipage, together with twenty pounds of tea, found lying on the road, which had been stolen from a Mormon train, previously, were, as an acquaintance of ours expresses it, “confiscated.”

J. S. Rockfellow and two others rode back, and striking the trail of Steve, followed it till eleven P. M. When afterwards arrested, this scoundrel admitted that they were within fifteen feet of him at one time.

On the ground, they found scattered along the trail of the fugitive robber, all the stolen packages, and envelopes, containing Treasury notes; so that he made nothing by his venture, except frozen feet; and he lost his horse, arms and traps. J. X. Beidler met Dutch John, and bandaged up his frozen hands, little knowing who his frigid acquaintance was. He never tells this story without observing, “That’s just my darned luck;” at the same time polishing the butt of his “Navy” with one hand, and scratching his head with the other, his gray eye twinkling like a star before rain, with mingled humor and intelligence.

Lank Forbes claimed the horse and accoutrements of Steve as the lawful spoil of his revolver, and the reward of his courage. A demurrer was taken to this by Milt Moody, who had done the agreeable to Dutch John, and the drivers put in a mild remonstrance on their own behalf, on the naval principle that all ships in sight share in the prize captured. They claimed that their “schooners,” were entitled to be represented by the “steersmen.” The subject afforded infinite merriment to the party at every camp. At last a Judge was elected, a jury was empannelled, and the attorneys harangued the judicial packers. The verdict was that Lank should remain seized and possessed of the property taken from the enemy, upon payment of $20 to each of the teamsters, and $30 to Milt, and thereupon the court adjourned. The travellers reached Salt Lake City in safety.

CHAPTER XI.
THE ROBBERY OF PEABODY & CALDWELL’S COACH.

“On thy dial write, ‘Beware of thieves.’”—O. W. Holmes.

Late in the month of October, 1863, the sickness of one of the drivers making it necessary to procure a substitute, William Rumsey was engaged to take the coach to Bannack. In the stage, as passengers, were Messrs. Mattison, Percival and Wilkinson. After crossing the hills in the neighborhood of Virginia City, it began to snow furiously, and the storm continued without abatement, till they arrived within two miles of John Baker’s Ranch, on Stinkingwater, a stream which owes its euphonious appellation to the fact that the mountaineers who named it found on its banks the putrifying corpses of Indians, suspended horizontally according to their usual custom, from a frame work of poles.

The corral at the station was found to be empty, and men were despatched to hunt up the stock. The herdsmen came back at last with only a portion of Peabody & Caldwell’s horses, the remainder belonging to A. J. Oliver & Co. This detained them two hours, and finding that they could do no better, they hitched up the leaders, that had come in with the coach, and putting on two of Oliver’s stock for wheelers, they drove through to Bob Dempsey’s on a run, in order to make up for lost time.

At this place they took on board another passenger, Dan McFadden, more familiarly known as “Bummer Dan.” The speed was maintained all the way to Point of Rocks, then called Copeland’s Ranch. There they again changed horses, and being still behind time, they went at the gallop to Bill Bunton’s Ranch, on Rattlesnake, at which place they arrived about sunset.

Here they discovered that the stock had been turned loose an hour before their arrival, the people stating that they did not expect the coach after its usual time was so long passed. Rumsey ordered them to send a man to gather up the team, which was done, and, at dark, the fellow came back, saying that he could not find them anywhere. The consequence was that they were obliged to lie over for the night. This was no great affliction; so they spent the time drinking whiskey, in mountain style—Bill Bunton doing the honors and sharing the grog. They had sense enough not to get drunk, being impressed with a reasonable conviction of the probability of the violation of the rights of property, if such should be the case. The driver had lost a pair of gauntlet gloves at the same place, before. At daylight, all arose, and two herders went out for the stock. One of them came back about 8 o’clock, and said that the stock was gone. A little before nine o’clock, the other herder came in with the stock that had hauled the coach over the last route.

The only way they could manage was to put on a span of the coach horses, with two old “plugs” for the wheel. The whole affair was a plan to delay the coach, as the horses brought in were worn down stock, turned out to recruit, and not fit to put in harness. During the previous evening, Bob Zachary, who seemed a great friend of Wilkinson’s, told them that he had to go on horseback to Bannack, and to take a spare horse with him, which he wanted him to ride. The offer was not accepted at that time, but in the morning Bob told him that he must go, for he could not bring the horse alone by himself. The miserable team being brought out and harnessed up, Oliver’s regular coach, and an extra one came in sight, just at the creek crossing. Soon Rumsey shouted, “all aboard,” the other stages came up, and all the passengers of the three vehicles turned in, on the mutual consolation principle, for a drink. Rumsey who sat still on the box, called, “All aboard for Bannack,” and all took their seats but Wilkinson, who said he had concluded to go with Bob Zachary. Bill Bunton came out with the bottle and the glass, and gave Rumsey a drink, saying that he had not been in with the rest, telling him at the same time that he was going to Bannack himself, and that he wanted them to wait till he had got through with the rest of the passengers, for that then he would go with them. While Bunton was in the house, Rumsey had been professionally swinging the whip, and found his arm so lame from the exercise of the day before, that he could not use it. He thereupon asked the boys if any of them were good at whipping? but they all said “No.” It was blustering, cold and cloudy—blowing hard; they let down the curtains. Finally, Bunton appeared and Rumsey said, “Billy, are you good at whipping?” To which he answered, “Yes,” and getting up, whipped away, while Rumsey drove. A good deal of this kind of work was to be done, and Bunton said he was “a d——d good whipper.” They crossed the creek and went on the table land at a run. The horses, however, soon began to weaken, Bunton whipping heavily, his object being to tire the stock. Rumsey told him to “ease up on them,” or they would not carry them through. Bunton replied that the wheelers were a pair that had “played out” on the road, and had been turned out to rest. He added that if they were put beyond a walk they would fail. They went on, at a slow trot, to the gulch, and there fell into a walk, when Bunton gave up the whip, saying that Rumsey could do the little whipping, necessary, and got inside. He sat down on a box beside Bummer Dan. Percival and Madison were on the fore seat, with their backs to the driver.

The stage moved on for about four minutes after this, when the coachman saw two men wrapped in blankets, with a hood over their heads, and a shot-gun apiece. The moment he saw them, it flashed through his mind, “like gunpowder,” (as he afterwards said,) that they were Road Agents, and he shouted at the top of his voice, “Look! look! boys! See what’s a coming! Get out your arms!” Each man looked out of the nearest hole, but Matteson, from his position was the only man that had a view of them. They were on full run for the coach, coming out of a dry gulch, ahead, and to the left of the road, which ran into the main canyon. He instantly pulled open his coat, threw off his gloves, and laid his hand on his pistol, just as they came up to the leaders, and sang out, “Up wid your hands,” in a feigned voice and dialect. Rumsey pulled up the horses; and they again shouted, “Up with your hands, you ——” (See formula.) At that, Bill Bunton cried, imploringly, “Oh! for God’s sake, men don’t kill one.” (He was stool-pitching a little, to teach the rest of the passengers what to do.) “For God’s sake don’t kill me. You can have all the money I’ve got.” Matteson was just going for his pistol, when the Road Agents again shouted, “Up wid you’r hands,” etc., “and keep them up.” Bunton went at his prayers again, piteously exclaiming, “Oh! for God’s sake, men, don’t kill me. I’ll come right to you. You can search me; I’ve got no arms.” At the same time he commenced getting out on the same side of the coach as they were.

The Road Agents then roared out, “Get down, every —— of you, and hold up your hands, or we’ll shoot the first of you that puts them down.” The passengers all got down in quick time. The robbers then turned to Rumsey, and said, “Get down, you ——” (as usual) “and take off the passengers’ arms.” This did not suit his fancy, so he replied, “You must be d——d fools to think I’m going to get down and let this team run away. You don’t want the team; it won’t do you any good.” “Get down, you ——,” said the spokesman, angrily. “There’s a man that has shown you he has no arms; let him take them,” suggested Billy. (Bunton had turned up the skirts of his coat to prove that he had no weapons on.) Bunton, who knew his business, called out, “I’ll hold the horses! I’ll hold the horses!” The Road Agent who did the talking, turned to him, saying, “Get up, you long-legged ——, and hold them.” Bunton at once went to the leaders, behind the two Road Agents, and they wheeling round to Billy Rumsey, ordered him down from the box. He tied the lines round the handle of the brake and got down, receiving the following polite reminder of his duty, “Now, you ——, take them arms off.”

“Needs must, when the Devil drives,” says the proverb, so off went Billy to Bummer Dan, who had on two “Navies,” one on each side. Rumsey took them, and walked off diagonally, thinking that he might get a shot at them; but they were too knowing, and at once ordered him to throw them on the ground. He laid them down, and going back to Matteson, took his pistol off, laying it down besides the others, the robbers yelling to him, “Hurry up, you ——.” He then went to Percival, but he had no arms on.

The Road Agents next ordered him to take the passengers’ money, and to throw it on the ground with the pistols. Rumsey walked over to Percival, who taking out his sack, handed it to him. While he was handing over, Bill Bunton took out his own purse, and threw it about half way to Rumsey, saying, “There’s a hundred and twenty dollars for you—all I have in the world; only don’t kill me.”

Billy next went to Bummer Dan, who handed out two purses from his pocket. Rumsey took them, and threw them on the ground besides the pistols. The next man was Matteson; but as he dropped his hands to take out his money, the leader shouted, “Keep up your hands, you ——. Take his money.” Rumsey approached him, and putting his hand into his left pocket, found there a purse and a porte monnaie. Seizing the opportunity, he asked—in a whisper—if there was anything in the porte monnaie. He said “No.” Rumsey turned to the robbers and said, “You don’t want this, do you?” holding up the porte monnaie. Matteson told them that there was nothing in it but papers. They surlily answered, “We don’t want that.” On examining the other pocket, the searcher found a purse, which he threw out on the ground with the pistols.

They then demanded of Rumsey whether he had all; and on his answering “Yes,” turning to Matteson the leader said, “Is that all you’ve got?” “No,” said he, “there’s another in here.” He was holding up his hands when he spoke, and he nudged the pocket with his elbow. The Road Agent angrily ordered Rumsey to take it out, and not leave “Nothing.” He did as he was bidden, and threw the purse on the ground, after which he started for the coach, and had his foot on the hub of the wheel, when the robbers yelled out, “Where are you going, you ——?” “To get on the coach, you fool,” said the irate driver, “You’ve got all there is.” He instantly retorted, “Go back there and get that big sack,” and added pointing to Bummer Dan, “You’re the man we’re after. Get that strap off your shoulder, you d——d Irish ——.” Bummer Dan had a strap over his shoulder, fastened to a large purse, that went down into his pants. He had thrown out two little sacks before.

Seeing that there was no chance of saving his money, he commenced unbuckling the strap, and when Rumsey got to him he had it off. Billy took hold of the tab to pull it out, but it would not come; whereupon he let go and stepped back. Dan commenced to unbutton his pants, the “Cap” ordering Rumsey to jerk it off, or he would shoot him in a minute. While he was speaking, Rumsey saw that Dan had another strap round his body, under his shirt. He stepped back again, saying, “You fools! you’re not going to kill a man who is doing all he can for you. Give him time.” They ordered him to hurry up, calling him “An awkward ——,” and telling him that they hadn’t any more time to lose. Dan had by this time got the belt loose, and he handed Rumsey a big, fringed bag, containing two other sacks. He received it, and tossed it beside the pistols.

The Road Agents finished the proceedings by saying, “Get aboard, every —— of you; and get out of this; and if we ever hear a word from one of you, we’ll kill you surer than h—l.”

They all got aboard, with great promptitude, Bunton mounting beside the driver, (he did not want to get inside then,) and commenced to whip the horses, observing that that was a d——d hot place for him, and he would get out of it as soon as he could. Rumsey saw, at a turn of the road by looking over the coach, that the Road Agents had dismounted, one holding the horses, while the other was picking up the plunder, which amounted to about $2,800.

The coach went on to Bannack, and reported the robbery at Peabody’s Express Office. George Hilderman was in Peabody’s when the coach arrived. He seemed as much surprised as any of them. His business was to hear what would happen, and to give word if the passengers named either of the robbers, and then, on their return, they would have murdered them. It was at this man’s place that Geo. Ives and the gang with him were found. He was banished when Ives was hung. Had he been caught only a little time afterwards, he would have swung with the rest, as his villainies were known.

The Road Agents had a private mark on the coach, when it carried money, and thus telegraphed it along the road. Rumsey told in Bannack whom he suspected; but he was wrong. Bummer Dan and Percival knew them, and told Matteson; but neither of them ever divulged it until the men were hung. They were afraid of their lives. Frank Parish confessed his share in this robbery. George Ives was the other.

CHAPTER XII.
THE SETTLEMENT OF VIRGINIA CITY AND THE MURDER OF DILLINGHAM.

Early in June, 1863, Alder Gulch was discovered by Tom Cover, Bill Fairweather, Barney Hughes, Edgar and some others. It was a sheer accident. After a long and unsuccessful tour, they came thither on their way to Bannack, and one of them took a notion to try a pan of dirt. A good prospect was obtained, and the lucky “panner” gave his name to the far famed “Fairweather District.”

Tom Cover and some others of the party returned to Bannack for provisions, and for the purpose of communicating the discovery to their friends. A wild stampede was the consequence.

One poor fellow, while in the willows at Beaverhead, being mistaken for a beaver, was accidentally shot by his comrade. He lived several days, and was carefully nursed by his slayer, who was greatly grieved at the occurrence. The stampeders came in with pack animals. Colonel McLean brought the first vehicle to the Gulch. The stampede reached the Gulch on the 6th of June. The course of the stream was marked by the alders, that filled the Gulch so densely as to prevent passage, in many places. Some people camped on the edge of the brush, about three-fourths of a mile above the town, accidentally set it on fire, and with a tremendous roar, the flames swept down the creek, and burned up the entire undergrowth.

Almost immediately after the first great rush from Bannack—in addition to the tents, brush wakiups and extempore fixings for shelter—small log cabins were erected. The first of these was the Mechanical Bakery, now standing near the lower end of Wallace street. Morier’s saloon went up at about the same time, and the first dwelling house was built by John Lyons. After this beginning, houses rose as if by magic. Dick Hamilton, Root & Davis, J. E. McClurg, Hall & Simpson, N. Story and O. C. Matthews, were among the first merchants. Dr. Steele was first President of the Fairweather District. Dr. G. G. Bissel was the first Judge of the Miners’ Court. The duty of the Recorder’s Office was, we believe, performed by James Furgus.

Among the citizens were S. S. Short, Sweney and Rogers, (discoverers,) Johnny Green, Nelson Ptomey, Judge Potter of Highland, Jem Galbraith, Judge Smith, (afterwards banished,) W. F. Bartlett, C. Crouch, Bixter & Co., Tom Conner, William Cadwell, W. Emerick, Frank Heald, Frank Woody, Marcellus Lloyd, Washburne Stapleton, John Sharp, Jerry Nowlan, E. C. Stickney, Frank Watkins, T. L. Luce, (Mechanical Bakery,) Robinson and Cooley, the first bakers, (open air,) Hugh O’Neil, of fistic fame, Jem Vivian, Jack Russell, the first man who panned out “wages” in the Grasshopper Creek, Sargent Tisdale, W. Nowlan, of the Bank, Tom Duffy, John Murphy, Jem Patton, Jno. Kane, Pat Lynch, John Robertson, Worcester Wymans and Charley Wymans, Barney Gilson, and many others.

The first name given to the present capital of Montana, was “Varina,” in honor of Jeff Davis’s wife, but it was soon changed to “Virgina.” Dr. (Judge) G. G. Bissel was the first man that wrote it Virginia. Being asked to head a legal document with “Varina,” he bluntly said he would see them d——d first, for that was the name of Jeff. Davis’s wife; and, accordingly, as he wrote it, so it remained. From this little circumstance it will be seen that politics were anything but forgotten on the banks of Alder Creek; but miners are sensible men, in the main, and out in the mountains, a good man makes a good friend, even where political opinions are widely different. The mountaineer holds his own like a vice, and he extends the same privilege to others. The theory is, “You may drive your stake where you darned please; only, if you try to jump my claim, I’ll go for you, sure.”

That is the basis of the mountain man’s creed, in love, law, war, mining, and in fact, in everything regulated by principle.

Of course a number of the roughs came over when the Gulch was settled, prominent among whom was Cyrus Skinner. Per contra, “X,” was among the early inhabitants, which fact reminds us of the line in Cato’s soliloquy,

“My bane and antidote are both before me.”

The celebrated “Rogues Antidote,” aforesaid, has, however, survived all the renowned Road Agents of the period alluded to. The true Western man is persistent, tough, and hard to abolish. Fierce, flighty spirits, like Lord Byron—when they get into trouble—say:

“Better perish by the shock,
Than moulder piece-meal on the rock.”

The motto of the Mountaineer, put into similar shape, would read:

Never say die, but brave the shock,
While there’s a shell-fish on the rock.

Which sentiment, though equally forcible, we reluctantly admit, is, perhaps, a shade less poetical; but it is nevertheless, good philosophy, which, with all respect for his lordship, is the reverse of what should be said of the teaching derivable from the beautiful lines of that erring genius.

As a proof of the address and tact of Plummer, and of the terrible state of society, it may be mentioned that he got himself elected Sheriff, at Bannack, despite of his known character, and immediately appointed two of his Road Agents; Buck Stinson and Ned Ray, as Deputies. Nor did he remain contented with that; but he had the effrontery to propose to a brave and good man, in Virginia that he should make way for him there, and as certain death would have been the penalty for a refusal, he consented. Thus Plummer was actually Sheriff of both places at once. This politic move threw the unfortunate citizens into his hands completely, and by means of his robber deputies—whose legal functions cloaked many a crime—he ruled with a rod of iron.

The marvellous riches of the great Alder Gulch attracted crowds from all the West, and afterwards from the East, also; among whom were many diseased with crime to such an extent that for their cure, the only available prescription was a stout cord and a good drop.

Plummer had appointed as his Deputies, Jack Gallagher, Buck Stinson and Ned Ray. The head Deputy was a man of another stripe, entirely, named Dillingham, who had accurate knowledge of the names of the members of the Road Agent Band, and was also acquainted with many of their plans, though he himself was innocent. He told a man named Dodge, who was going to Virginia with Wash Stapleton and another, that Buck Stinson, Haze Lyons and Charley Forbes intended to rob them. Dodge, instead of keeping his council, foolishly revealed the whole affair to the robbers, who, of course, were much struck at the news. Hays ejaculated, “——, is that so?” The three men at once concluded to murder Dillingham.

At Rattlesnake, Haze Lyons came to Wash Stapleton, who was on the road between Bannack and Virginia, and asked him if he had heard about the intended robbery, adding that he had followed Dillingham that far, and that he had come to kill him, but he said that he feared that he had heard about it, and had got out of the country. Wash who says he has felt more comfortable, even when sleeping in church—at once replied, “No; this is the first I’ve heard of it. I have only $100 in greenbacks, and they may as well take them, if they want them, and let me go.” The other swore it was all a d——d lie, and they separated.

The robbers went on to Virginia. Jack Gallagher came to X, and wanted a pony for his friend Stinson to ride down the Gulch. At first his request was refused, the owner saying that he wanted to ride it down the Gulch, himself. Jack insisted, and promising that he would be back in half an hour, X lent it to him. He was away for two hours, and the proprietor was “as hot as a wolf,” when he came back. The truth was that they had been consulting and fixing the programme for the murder, which was arranged for the next day, they having discovered that Dillingham was in the gulch.

In the morning, Buck Stinson, Haze Lyons and Charley Forbes might be seen engaged in a grand “Medicine talk,” in the neighborhood of a brush wakiup, where Dr. Steele was holding court, and trying the right to a bar claim, the subject of a suit between F. Ray and D. Jones. Dillingham was standing close by the impromptu Hall of Justice, when the three Road Agents came up. “We want to see you,” said Haze; Stinson walked a pace or two ahead of the others. Haze was on one side and Forbes was behind. “Bring him along! Make him come!” said Buck Stinson, half turning and looking over his shoulder. They walked on about ten paces, when they all stopped, and the three faced towards Dillingham. “—— you, take back those lies,” said Haze, and instantly the three pulled their pistols and fired, so closely together that eye-sight was a surer evidence of the number of shots discharged than hearing. There was a difference, however; Haze fired first; his ball taking effect in the thigh. Dillingham put his hand to the spot, and groaned. Buck Stinson’s bullet went over his head; but Charley Forbes’ shot passed through his breast. On receiving the bullet in the chest, Dillingham fell like an empty sack. He was carried into a brush wakiup, and lived but a very short time.

Jack Gallagher, being Deputy Sheriff, settled the matter very neatly and effectively (for his friends.) He rushed out, as per agreement, and took their pistols, putting them together and reloading Buck Stinson’s, so that no one knew (that would tell) whose pistols fired the fatal shots.

The men were, of course, arrested. Red tape is an institution not yet introduced among miners. A captain of the guard, elected by the people, and a detail of miners, took charge of the prisoners, who were lodged in a log building, where John Mings’ store now stands.

A people’s court was organized and the trial commenced. It was a trial by the people EN MASSE. For our own part, knowing as we do the utter impossibility of all the voters hearing half the testimony; seeing, also, that the good and the bad are mingled, and that a thief’s vote will kill the well considered verdict of the best citizen, in such localities and under such circumstances, verdicts are as uncertain as the direction of the wind on next Tibb’s Eve. We often hear of the justice of the masses—“in the LONG run;” but a man may get hung “in the SHORT run”—or may escape the rope he has so remorselessly earned, which is, by a thousand chances to one, the more likely result of a mass trial. The chance of a just verdict being rendered is almost a nullity. Prejudice, or selfish fear of consequences, and not reason, rules the illiterate, the lawless, and the uncivilized. These latter are in large numbers in such places, and if they do right, it is by mistake. We are of Tenterden’s opinion in the matter of juries, (in cases like these.) “Gentlemen of the Jury,” said his Lordship, to eleven hard looking followers of a consequential foreman, in an appalling state of watch-chain and shirt frill, “Allow me to congratulate you upon the soundness of your verdict; it is highly creditable to you.” “My Lord,” replied the pursy and fussy little bald-pated and spectacled foreman, “The ground on which we based our verdict, was—” “Pardon me, Mr. Foreman,” interrupted the Judge, “Your verdict is perfectly correct; the ground on which it is based is most probably entirely untenable.” The favors of the dangerous classes are bestowed, not on the worthy, but on the popular, who are their uncommissioned leaders. Such favors are distributed like sailors’ prize money, which is nautically supposed to be sifted through a ladder. What goes through is for the officers; what sticks on the rounds is for the men.

James Brown and H. P. A. Smith, were in favor of a trial by twelve men; but E. R. Cutler opposed this, for he knew that the jury would have been impanneled by a Road Agent Sheriff. A vote was taken on the question, by “Ayes” and “Noes;” but this failing, two wagons were drawn up, with an interval between them. Those in favor of a trial by a jury of twelve went through first. Those who preferred a trial by the people traversed the vehicular defile afterwards. The motion of a jury for the whole prevailed.

Judge G. G. Bissell was appointed President by virtue of his office. He stated that it was an irregular proceeding, but that if the people would appoint two reliable men to sit with him, he would carry it through. This was agreed to, Dr. Steel and Dr. Rutar being chosen as associates. Three Doctors were thus appointed Judges, and naturally enough directed the “medicine talk” on the subject.

E. R. Cutler, a blacksmith, was appointed Public Prosecutor; Jem Brown was elected assistant; Judge H. P. A. Smith was for the defense, and the whole body of the people were Jurors. We may add that the jury box was Alder Gulch, and that the throne of Justice was a wagon, drawn up at the foot of what is now Wallace street.

The trial commenced by the indictment of Buck Stinson and Haze Lyons, and continued till dark, when the court adjourned. The prisoners were placed under a strong guard at night. They were going to chain them, but they would not submit. Charley Forbes said he “would suffer death first.” This (of course?) suited the guard of miners, and quick as a flash, down came six shot guns in a line with Charley’s head. The opinion of this gentlemen on the subject of practical concatenation underwent an instantaneous change. He said, mildly, “Chain me.” The fetters were composed of a light logging chain and padlocks.

All was quiet during the rest of the night; but Haze sent for a “leading citizen,” who, covered by the guns of the guard, approached and asked him what he wanted. “Why,” said he, “I want you to let these men off. I am the man that killed Dillingham. I came over to do it, and these men are innocent. I was sent here by the best men in Bannack to do it.” Upon being asked who they were, he named some of the best citizens, and then added, “Henry Plummer told me to shoot him.” The first half of the statement was an impossible falsehood, many of the men knowing nothing of the affair for several days after. The last statement was exactly true.

After breakfast, the trial was resumed, and continued till near noon. The attorneys had by this time finished their pleas, and the question was submitted to the people, “Guilty, or not Guilty?” A nearly unanimous verdict of “Guilty,” was returned. The question as to the punishment to be inflicted was next submitted by the President, and a chorus of voices from all parts of the vast assembly, shouted, “Hang them.” Men were at once appointed to build a scaffold and to dig the graves of the doomed criminals.