It was but for a moment, for, as if in answer to it, the counterfeited neigh of a horse a few rods below and of another just above me, warned me that the danger I had feared was already upon us. It was the signal and reply of the Indians. Bray and Dougherty grasped their guns, while I rushed to the picket pin, and, seizing the four lariats, pulled in the horses. A moment afterwards, and from behind a thicket of willows just above our camp, there dashed down the cañon in full gallop forty or more of the dreaded Blackfeet. In the light of that dismal fire their appearance was horribly picturesque. Their faces hideous with war paint, their long ebon hair floating to the wind, their heads adorned with bald-eagle feathers, and their knees and elbows daintily tricked out with strips of antelope skin and white feathery skunks’ tails, they seemed like a troop of demons which had just sprung out of the earth, rather than beings of flesh and blood. Each man held a gun in his right hand, guiding his horse with the left. Well-filled quivers and bows were fastened to their shoulders, and close behind the main troop, driven by five or six outriders, followed a herd of fifty or more horses they had just stolen from a company of miners on their way to the Bannack mines, who had encamped for the night at Deer Lodge. These animals were driven hurriedly by our camp, down the cañon, the main troop, meantime, forming into line on the other side of them so as to present an unbroken front of horsemen after they had passed, drawn up for attack. This critical moment we improved by rapidly looping the lariats into the mouths of our horses and bringing our guns to an aim from behind them over their fore-shoulders. As we stood thus, not twenty yards asunder, confronting each other, the chief, evidently surprised that the onslaught lingered, rode hurriedly along the front of his men and with violent gesticulations and much vehement jargon urged them to an instant assault. They strongly expostulated, and by numerous antics and utterances, which I afterwards ascertained meant that their guns were wet and their caps useless, finally persuaded him to resort to the bows and arrows. The chief was very angry, and from the violence of his gestures and threatening manner I expected to see several of the Indians knocked off their horses. When the Indians, in obedience to his command, hung their guns on the pommels of their saddles, and drew their bows, the attack seemed inevitable. Our guns were dry, and we knew that they were good for twenty-four shots and the revolvers in our belts for as many more.

Satisfied that an open attack would eventuate in death to some of their number, nearly one-half of the Indians left the ranks and passed from our sight down the cañon, but soon reappeared, emerging from the thicket on the opposite side of our camp. We wheeled our four horses into a hollow square, and, standing in the centre, presented our guns at each assaulting party. As our horses were the booty they most wished to obtain, they were now restrained lest they should kill them instead of us. A few moments of painful suspense—moments into which days of anxiety were crowded—supervened. A brief consultation followed, and the chief gave orders for them to withdraw. They all wheeled into rapid line, and with the military precision of a troop of cavalry dashed down the cañon and we saw them no more.

Thankful for an escape attributable to the snow which had unfitted their guns for use, and to the successful raid they had made upon our neighbors, we saddled our horses and hurried over the mountain range with all possible speed. While crossing, we found two horses which, jaded with travel, had been abandoned by the Indians. We took them with us, and on our arrival at Grasshopper some days after, restored one to Dr. Glick, its rightful owner.

“I have had seven horses stolen from me by these prowlers,” said he, “but this is the first one that was ever returned.”

The little gulch at Pike’s Peak was fully occupied when we arrived, and after remaining a few days, we mounted our horses and made a tedious but unadventurous journey to Bannack, then, and for nearly a year afterwards, the most important gold placer east of the Rocky Mountains.

The fame of this locality had reached Salmon River late in the Fall of 1862, and many of the people left the Florence mines for the east side. Among them came the first irruption of robbers, gamblers, and horse-thieves, and the settlement was filled with gambling houses and saloons, where bad men and worse women held constant vigil, and initiated that reign of infamy which nothing but the strong hand could extirpate.

CHAPTER XV
BANNACK IN 1862

It is charitable to believe that Henry Plummer came to Bannack intending to reform, and live an honest and useful life. His deportment justified that opinion. His criminal career was known only to two or three persons as criminal as himself. If he could have been relieved of the fear of exposure and of the necessity of associating with his old comrades in crime, it is not improbable that his better nature would have triumphed. He possessed great executive ability, a power over men that was remarkable, a fine person, polished address, and prescient knowledge of his fellows—all of which were mellowed by the advantages of a good early education. With all the concerns of a mining camp experience had made him familiar, and for some weeks after his arrival in Bannack he was oftener applied to for counsel and advice than any other resident. Cool and dispassionate, he evinced on these occasions a power of analysis that seldom failed of conviction. He speedily became a general favorite. We can better imagine than describe the mixed nature of those feelings, which, fired with ambitious designs and virtuous purposes, beheld the way to their fulfilment darkened by a retrospect of unparalleled atrocity. So true it is that the worst men are the last to admit to themselves the magnitude of their offences, that even Plummer, stained with the guilt of repeated murders and seductions, a very monster of iniquity, believed that his restoration to the pursuits and honors of virtuous association could be established but for a possible exposure by some of his guilty partners. He knew their watchful eyes were upon him; that they were ready to follow him as leader or crush him as a traitor.

Of no one was he in greater dread than his sworn enemy, Cleveland. This man, who made no secret of his own guilty purposes, had frequently uttered threats against the life of Plummer, and never lost an opportunity publicly to denounce him. Their feud was irreconcilable. Cleveland had incurred suspicion as the murderer of a young man by the name of George Evans, and was regarded generally as a desperado of the vilest character. It was no credit to Plummer that he came in his company to Bannack. But their previous criminal connection was as yet unrevealed.

A few days after the disappearance of Evans, a number of citizens were seated in general conversation around the fire in a saloon kept by Mr. Goodrich. Among the number were Plummer, Jeff Perkins, and Augustus Moore. Suddenly the door was violently opened and Cleveland entered. With an air of assumed authority he proclaimed himself “chief,” adding with an oath that he knew all the scoundrels from the “other side” and intended to get even with some of them. The covert threat which these words revealed did not escape the notice of Plummer, but Cleveland upon the instant charged Perkins with having violated a promise to pay some money which the latter owed him in the lower country. Perkins assured him it had been paid. “If it has,” said Cleveland, “it is all right,” but as if to signify his distrust of Perkins’s statement, he commenced handling his pistol and reiterating the charges. To prevent Cleveland from carrying into execution his apparent design of shooting Perkins, Plummer fixed his eyes sternly upon him and in a calm tone told him to behave himself, that Perkins had paid the debt and he ought to be satisfied.