Two young men discovered a rich lead upon a low divide near the head of Big Cañon, a few miles from town, and upon going out to work one morning they found that four of these claim jumpers had taken possession of their ground and had removed their stakes, placing their own instead. The young men called a miners’ meeting, and the day following about fifty miners answered the call, and organized by electing a chairman. After due investigation it was decided that these young men owned the ground in dispute, and that the jumpers must pull up their stakes and vacate. The jumpers, however, made no defense, remarking only after the decision was rendered against them, that they would like to see the man who would pull up their stakes, at the same time drawing their weapons. There was a young man present as a spectator who had not taken any part in the meeting, although interested in the proceedings. This young man drew his gun, and stepping out from the crowd said to the jumpers:
“You would like to see the man who will pull up your stakes? Well, you can,” at the same time pulling them up and throwing them to one side, and placing the young men in possession of their claim.
This young man was Dave Buell, who was afterwards elected as the County Sheriff.
The Autumn rains commenced about the first of November, raining, however, but slightly during the fall and winter of ’50 and ’51, and being the most remarkable winter ever experienced either before or after, in that section. The only rain of any consequence fell in the month of April following. Miners, who had thrown up piles of dirt, were badly disappointed in not being able to wash it, and gold mining was voted a fraud. Nothing occurred during the winter to break the monotony of events, and Hangtown and vicinity were again nearly deserted. News from the North and South of the discovery of rich river mining, as well as new placer mining, continued to be received, showing that the mining region was gradually being extended to nearly the whole length of the State, although but a few miles in breadth. One other fact, also, was being well demonstrated, and that was that although millions of dollars were being washed from the river bars and dry diggings in the mining regions, yet the greater portion of it, through regular as well as irregular business channels, was being concentrated in the hands of the business men in San Francisco; the miners, as a class, retaining but a small proportion of their earnings, and in many cases barely sufficient to sustain life.
The gambling fraternity became now in the fall and winter of ’50 more numerous, and were in full blast in our heretofore rather quiet and orderly town.
Fighting was a pastime, and shooting, upon the slightest provocation, was one of the chief amusements.
The miners lost large amounts of gold dust at the gambling tables, and in the endeavor to get even still continued to lose. The noted thimble-rigger, “Lucky Bill,” and the three-card monte sharpers of St. Louis were on the top round of glory, robbing the honest miners who from curiosity put up their money to know how the thing was done, and they always found out.
This man, “Lucky Bill,” alias Wm. Thornton, was a gambler by profession, born and raised in the city of St. Louis. Although a man of very bad character, yet there is placed to his credit on the great register certain acts of a charitable nature that could hardly be expected from such an individual. He was always ready to assist the needy, and when money was required for the unfortunate had been known to contribute hundreds of dollars at a single time. He was hung by a vigilance committee in Carson Valley a few years later for being implicated in a murder and cattle stealing scrape.
In his address to the spectators around the place of his execution, he stated that he could blame no one for the course they had taken in condemning him to suffer death, for he well knew that he really deserved it, but, continued he: