Vigilante Days and Ways / The pioneers of the Rockies; the makers and making of Montana and Idaho

by Nathaniel Pitt Langford

“Of course,” said he, “you know that offences of this magnitude, in all civilized countries, are punished with death. The necessity for a rigid enforcement of this penalty, in a country which has no judiciary, is greater even than in one where these crimes are tried by courts of law. There is no escape for you. We are sorry that you have incurred this penalty,—sorry for you, but the blame is wholly yours.”

Hunter made no reply to the justice in his case, but requested that his friends should not be informed of the manner of his death.

“I have,” said he, “no property to pay the expense of a funeral, and my burial even must depend upon your charity. I hope you will give me a decent one.”

“Every reasonable request shall be granted, Bill,” said the Vigilante; “but you know the ground is too hard for us to attempt your interment without proper implements. We will inform your friends of your execution, and they will attend to your burial.”

While this conversation was going on, some of the Vigilantes had prepared the noose, and passed the rope over a limb of the tree. The criminal shook hands with all, tearfully bidding each “good-bye.” After the rope was adjusted, several of the men took hold of it, and at a given signal, by a rapid pull, ran the prisoner up so suddenly that he died without apparent suffering; yet, strange to say, he reached as if for his pistol, and pantomimically cocked and discharged it, the by-standers stated, six times. The “ruling passion was strong in death.” Leaving the corpse suspended from the tree, the Vigilantes, now that their work was done, hurried homeward at a rapid pace.

Hunter was the last of Plummer’s band that fell into the hands of the Vigilantes. The man was not destitute of redeeming qualities. He often worked hard in the mines for the money he lost at the gaming-table, but in an evil hour he joined Plummer’s gang, and aided in the commission of many infamous crimes. In his personal intercourse he was known to perform many kind acts. He admitted, just before his death, the justice of his sentence. It is believed that in his escape through the pickets at Virginia City he was assisted by some of the Vigilantes, who did not credit his guilt.

The death of Hunter marked the bloody close of the reign of Plummer’s band. He was the last of that terrible organization to fall a victim to Vigilante justice. The retribution, almost Draconic in severity, administered to these daring freebooters had in no respect exceeded the demands of absolute justice. If the many acts I have narrated of their villainies were not sufficient to justify the extreme course pursued in their extermination, surely the unrevealed history, greater in enormity, and stained with the blood of a hundred or more additional victims, must remove all prejudices from the public mind against the voluntary tribunal of the Vigilantes. There was no other remedy. Practically, they had no law, but, if law had existed, it could not have afforded adequate redress. This was proven by the feeling of security consequent upon the destruction of the band. When the robbers were dead the people felt safe, not for themselves alone, but for their pursuits and their property. They could travel without fear. They had a reasonable assurance of safety in the transmission of money to the States, and in the arrival of property over the unguarded route from Salt Lake City. The crack of pistols had ceased, and they could walk the streets without constant exposure to danger. There was an omnipresent spirit of protection, akin to that omnipresent spirit of law which pervaded older civilized communities. Men of criminal instincts were cowed before the majesty of an outraged people’s wrath, and the very thought of crime became a terror to them. Young men who had learned to believe that the roughs were destined to rule, and who, under the influence of that guilty faith, were fast drifting into crime, shrunk appalled before the thorough work of the Vigilantes. Fear, more potent than conscience, forced even the worst of men to observe the requirements of civilized society, and a feeling of comparative security among all classes was the result.

But the work was not all done. A few reckless spirits remained, who, when the excitement was over, forgot the lesson it taught, and returned to their old vocation. The Vigilantes preserved their organization, and, as we shall see in the subsequent pages of this history, meted out the sternest justice to all capital offenders.

This portion of my history would be incomplete did I omit to mention that Smith and Thurmond, the lawyers who had on several prominent occasions defended the bloodiest of the roughs, were both banished. The former of these was a man of remarkable ability in his profession and of correct and generous impulses. To a clear, logical mind, and thorough knowledge of his profession, he added fine powers as an orator; and it was these qualities, more than any sympathy he indulged for his clients, that rendered him obnoxious to public censure and suspicion. After an exile of two years he returned to the Territory, and resumed the practice of law, which he followed with success until his death, which occurred in Helena in 1870. He was greatly lamented by all who knew him.

Thurmond came from the “west side,” with a reputation for being a friend of the roughs,—one not in complicity with them, but upon whom they could always depend for assistance in case of difficulty. After his banishment he went to Salt Lake City, where he associated himself with the Danites, or Destroying Angels of the Mormon Church, whom he tried to induce to follow his leadership in an active crusade against all the members of the Montana Vigilance Committee who might pass through Utah on their way to the States. Failing in this, he afterwards removed to Dallas, Texas, where he became involved in a quarrel with a noted desperado, by whom he was shot and instantly killed.