The executions over, we returned to the town, first detaching a party to remove and bury the bodies. Then the assemblage quietly dispersed, and that night our little community saw the first peace and quiet it had known for many a day.
The condition of affairs in the new mining districts was peculiar. One reason why murder and outrage were so prevalent, was, that the rough element generally predominated, and among this class a person is not respected until he has "killed his man," as they express it. When any new arrival came into camp, no one thought of inquiring if he was honest or industrious, but, had he killed his man? If not, he was a person of small consequence, and unworthy of further notice; if he had, the cordiality of his reception, and his standing in the community was graduated according to the number of his victories.
No man could rise to any position of influence, with bloodless hands, without long and weary labor, but if he were known to have killed half a dozen men, his worth was at once appreciated, and he became a man of note in the community.
Hence, it is not surprising that many men were killed without the pretext of provocation; so impatient were these persons to achieve distinction and emerge from their obscurity, and become shining lights among the fraternity of desperadoes. "There goes the man that killed Jack Smith," was the sort of celebrity mostly coveted by this class of people; and I know of several cases, where persons tried to "kill their men," for no other reason, and in some instances were successful, in others, got killed themselves for their pains.
In such communities it is utterly impossible to convict a man of murder, arising from one of these public brawls or affrays, and it is only when patience ceases to be a virtue, and the long-suffering miners and others of the law-abiding classes, rise in their might, and by an indiscriminate execution of all persons of bad character, clear the atmosphere for a time, that such crimes are ever punished.
The desperado stalked the streets with a swagger, graded according to the number of his homicides, and a nod of recognition from him, was sufficient to make an humble admirer happy for the rest of the day.
The deference that was paid to a desperado of wide reputation and who kept his "private graveyard," as the phrase went, was marked and cheerfully accorded. When he moved along the sidewalk in his excessively long-tailed frock coat, shiny stump-toed boots, and with dainty little slouch hat, tipped over his left eye, the small-fry roughs made room for his majesty; when he entered the restaurant, the waiters deserted bankers and merchants, to overwhelm him with obsequious attention; when he shouldered his way to the bar, the shouldered parties wheeled indignantly, recognized him, and—apologized. They got a look in reply, that made them tremble in their boots, and by this time, a gorgeous barkeeper was leaning over the counter, proud of a degree of acquaintance that enabled him to use such familiarity as "how are yer Jack, old feller; glad to see you; what'll you take? the old thing?" meaning his usual drink of course.
The best known names in the mining towns, were those belonging to these bloodstained heroes of the revolver. Governors, politicians, capitalists, leaders of the legislature, and men who had made big strikes, enjoyed some degree of fame, but it seemed local and insignificant, when compared with the celebrity of such men as these. There was a long list of them. They were brave, reckless men, and carried their lives in their own hands.
To do them justice, they did their killing principally among themselves, and seldom molested peaceable citizens, for they considered it small credit to add to their trophies so small an affair as the life of a man who was not "on the shoot," as they termed it. They killed each other on slight provocation, and hoped and expected to be killed themselves, for they considered it almost disgraceful for a man not to die "with his boots on," as they expressed it.
Gradually their ranks were thinned by the ever ready pistol, but it was not so much this, as the change in public sentiment, that caused them mainly to disappear from the older mining communities. Now, except in newly opened diggings, the genuine desperado is a thing of the past.