lunch, “All Hades couldn’t drive me off either.” He was dressed in a kind of masquerade costume, and a gambler by profession from some interior town in Missouri. He wore a white fur plug hat; blue swallow-tail coat with brass buttons, and around his waist a broad belt containing weapons enough for a whole regiment. But wait; a large, powerfully built man was walking very leisurely toward the claim, followed by the young man, its owner. The big fellow, C. Marple, who was from Philadelphia, in a very mild and persuasive tone of voice requested the U. S. arsenal to kindly leave the claim; but placing his hand upon the most convenient weapon the claim jumper refused. Mr. Marple, in a very polite manner, stepped towards him, and taking him by the collar kindly assisted him to leave, which he did without any further trouble; proving the well known fact that the greater the scoundrel, the greater the coward,
and requiring a great number of weapons, therefore, to convince others of his bravery.
A desperado by the name of Burns, the same who afterwards assisted in the capture of the noted bandit, Joaquin, came across the plains this season, and could be seen visiting and lounging around the various bar-rooms, carrying a miniature U. S. arsenal around his waist. Having one day a dispute with this same Mr. Marple in relation to some trifling matter, he grasped the handle of his favorite weapon, but the unfrightened Yank, shoving his clenched fist in close proximity to the desperado’s left eye, playfully remarked:
“Yes, draw your weapon, and I’ll bet drinks for the crowd that I knock you down before you can cock it.”
Burns eyed the huge fist, concluded that he would like its appearance better at a distance, put up his weapon, and treated the crowd. One of these brave frontier ruffians made his stopping place and home at a way station, or bar-room, located upon the emigrant road a few miles from Hangtown, and was very frequently in the habit of accosting miners and strangers who had occasion to stop at the place, in a very rough and barbarous manner. He would draw a weapon, and ask if they had said their prayers and were ready to die, getting, of course, his whiskey free as a compromise, upon condition of putting up his weapons. Upon one occasion, however, he struck a costumer, a regular old-fashioned, Jacksonian Democrat from Kentucky, who did not believe in compromising.
As the latter stood at the bar enjoying his beverage, the border ruffian approached him with an immense bowie knife raised above his head, and inquired if the stranger had said his prayers that morning, at the same time making a motion as if to strike. The old Kentuckian remarked that he had not, as he had done all his praying in his younger days, and enough, he reckoned, to last him the rest of his life, at the same time drawing his pistol from his belt, and sending a ball crashing through the brain of the desperado. No inquest, as the coroner did not think it was necessary.
This class of desperadoes was now becoming quite numerous in the mining regions, and caused much trouble and annoyance. But they must not be confounded with, nor be included in, what in more modern times are denominated as cow-boys; for the latter are a later invention, and as a rule of a higher order, although there may be many desperate characters among them. Yet the great majority
