Hon. Wm. C. Rheem, in a letter to the Helena (Montana) Herald, writes of Henry Plummer as follows:
“I remember Plummer very well. He was frequently in my cabin, and I often came in contact with him while he was exercising the office of sheriff. His form and face were familiar to the first settlers in Bannack. He was about five feet eleven inches in height, and weighed a hundred and fifty pounds. He was straight, slender, spare, agile, and what Western men call withy. He was a quiet man and talked but little; when he did speak, it was always in a low tone and with a good choice of language. He never grew boisterous, even in his cups, and no impulse of anger or surprise ever raised his voice above that of wary monotone. His countenance was in perfect keeping with his utterance. Both were under the same vigilant command. If one was like the low, continuous purr of the crouching tiger, the muscles of the other were as rigid as those of the beast before he springs. Affection, fear, hate, grief, remorse, or any passion or emotion, found no expression in his immovable face. No color ever flushed his cheeks. With mobile and expressive features, he would have been handsome—all except the forehead; this, with the conformation of the skull, betrayed the murderer, and Plummer knew it. The observer beheld a well-cut mouth, indicating decision, firmness, and intelligence; but not a line expressive of sensuality; a straight nose and well-shaped chin, and cheeks rather narrow and fleshless, still, in their outlines, not unhandsome. But one might as well have looked into the eyes of the dead for some token of a human soul as to have sought it in the light gray orbs of Plummer. Their cold, glassy stare defied inquisition. They seemed to be gazing through you at some object beyond, as though you were transparent. While other men laughed or pitied or threatened with their eyes, his had the same half-vacant stare, no matter how moving the story or tragic the spectacle.
“I have said that Plummer knew he had a bad front: he therefore kept it jealously covered with the turn-down rim of his slouch hat. When not in the mood or act of slaughter or rapine, his politeness was notable and well timed in demonstration. He understood the formulas of courtesy, but the one of uncovering his head he failed to observe.”
An examination of Plummer’s arm after his death, disclosed the fact that the lower fracture of the radius never united, but formed a false joint. The bullet passed into the marrow of the lower end of the bone, and was stopped in its progress by the bones of the hand. From subsequent use of the hand, while Plummer was sheriff, the bullet became worn as smooth as polished silver.
CHAPTER XVIII
BROADWATER’S STRATAGEM
After sentence of banishment was pronounced upon them, Moore and Reeves went to the mining camp in Deer Lodge Valley, located near the present site of Deer Lodge City. Messrs. Broadwater and Pemberton, two young men who had come into the Territory a few weeks before, had selected this spot as an eligible location for a town, and were engaged in laying it out at the time the guilty exiles arrived. They had already erected two cabins, one of which they occupied, the other being vacant. It was the middle of February, and the weather was intensely cold. Moore and Reeves made their camp in a clump of willows upon the bank of the Deer Lodge River. With no better protection than their blankets against the wintry blasts which swept down the valley and the frequent storms that gathered in the lofty ranges overhanging it, and with no food except beef and coffee, these men suffered severely. Moore soon fell sick of mountain fever, and would probably have died had not Broadwater caused his removal to the vacant cabin, and supplied him with food and medicines necessary to his recovery. Soon after he had sufficiently recovered to leave his bed, a messenger from Bannack brought the intelligence that the miners, at a recent meeting, had revoked the sentence of banishment against him and Reeves, and that they were at liberty to return. During his illness the Indians had stolen Moore’s horse. Broadwater placed one at his disposal and Moore rejoined his comrades at Bannack.
In the following spring, Broadwater engaged in the cattle business,—buying in Deer Lodge and selling his herds at Bannack. The proceeds of these sales often amounted to thousands of dollars in gold dust. On one of these occasions he was preparing to return to Deer Lodge with six thousand dollars in gold. Moore called upon him, with a request for a few moments’ confidential conversation.
“Make a free breast of anything you have to communicate,” said Broadwater. “I will listen and be silent.”
“It’s for your own safety, Broad,” replied Moore, “and there is not another man in the country for whom I’d take the risk; but you were my friend when I needed friendship: you saved my life, gave me food and shelter and care; and I can never forget to be grateful—but you must pledge your honor not to betray me.”
“Freely, freely, Moore; I would lose my life first.”