This valley, in the dim light, looked to be fully a quarter of a mile in diameter, and to the great surprise of all it had grassy banks; and as their feet touched the sward the delicious odor of wild thyme and Indian pinks filled the air.
They found enough dry wood to make a fire to warm up their meat.
"It looks to me," said Sam, as he sat quietly before the fire, for some time after supper, "as if the worst is over, and that we can get to Hurley's Gulch without much trouble from here."
[CHAPTER XXIII.—THE TRIAL IN PROGRESS.]
It cannot be denied that these rude forms of justice, known as "Judge Lynch's Courts," have done some good in disorganized conditions of society, by deterring, if not in punishing, crime. Indeed, in many cases vigilance committees have been of the greatest service, even in places where the law is supposed to be in force. At one time these committees saved the city of San Francisco from the control of murderers and gamblers.
But on the whole they do more harm than good, for, as in the present instance at Hurley's Gulch, bad men join them for self-protection or to carry out their own selfish ends.
The only men who can properly administer justice are those accustomed to weighing evidence, and, no matter how well meaning, rough miners are apt to be influenced by their feelings rather than their reason.
It would not have taken a stranger long to see that a majority of the men gathered in that canvas-covered apartment, in the hotel at Hurley's Gulch, were prejudiced against the prisoners.
To Mr. Willett, who was familiar with the dignified forms of courts of justice in the East, the proceedings looked like a burlesque on law, for an attempt was made to do things after the manner of long established methods.
Before the prisoners were brought in, it was decided by the committee having the matter in charge, that a man named Jacks, an ignorant, red-faced fellow, who had occupied a similar position on a former occasion, should act as judge.