Quiet was restored for the moment and Perkins slipped off, intending to return with his pistols and shoot Cleveland on sight. Here the difficulty would have ended had not Cleveland, in an evil moment, in a defiant and threatening manner, with mingled profanity and epithet, declared that he did not fear any of them. Filled with rage, Plummer sprang to his feet, drew his pistol, and exclaiming, “I am tired of this,” followed up the expression with a couple of rapid shots, the last of which struck Cleveland below the belt. He fell on his knees. Grasping wildly for his pistol, he appealed to Plummer not to shoot him while he was down. “No,” said Plummer, whose blood was now up; “get up.” Cleveland staggered to his feet, only to receive two more shots, the second of which entered below the eye. He fell to the floor, and Plummer, sheathing his pistol, turned to leave the saloon. At the door he was met by George Ives and Charley Reeves, each of whom, pistol in hand, was coming to take part in the affray. Each seizing an arm, they escorted Plummer down the street, meanwhile suggesting with great expletive emphasis a variety of surmises as to the possible effect of the quarrel upon the public.
Hank Crawford and Harry Phleger, two respectable citizens, hastened to the aid of the dying desperado, whom they conveyed to Crawford’s lodgings. His bed being poorly furnished Cleveland sent him to Plummer’s cabin to get a pair of blankets belonging to him. The interview, between Crawford and Plummer on this occasion showed that the mind of the latter was ill at ease. Like Macbeth’s dread of Banquo, so he felt that, while Cleveland lived,—
“There is none but he
Whose being I do fear; and under him
My genius is rebuk’d.”
In the brief colloquy which took place between them, Plummer asked Crawford no less than three times what Jack had said about him. His past career of crime was all before him. Crawford as often replied, “Nothing.”
“’Tis well he did not,” at length responded Plummer, “for if he had I would kill him in his bed.”
Crawford then told him that, in reply to several questions asked him, Cleveland had said,
“Poor Jack has got no friends. He has got it [meaning his death-wound] and I guess he can stand it.”
Crawford left with the impression that Plummer still thought Cleveland had exposed him, and was careful afterwards to go armed, as he felt that his own life was in danger. Cleveland lingered in great agony for three hours, and was decently buried by Crawford. Soon after he had been removed to Crawford’s cabin, Plummer sent a man known as “Dock,” a cook, into the cabin as a spy, where he remained until Cleveland died. He said that the only reply Phleger received to repeated questions concerning the difficulty between him and Plummer was, “It makes no difference to you.” The secret, if secret there was, died with him.