He replied, “The Robber of the Glen.”
“Oh!” she said inquiringly, “are you Johnny Glenn?”
“No,” he answered, “I’m the Robber of the Glen, and want your money.”
Mrs. Davenport surrendered the three purses containing the money, together with her gold watch, remarking as she did so, that two of the purses and the watch belonged to her. With much gallantry of manner the robber restored them to her immediately, retaining only the single purse belonging to her husband. The plundered couple then proceeded to Benton, and Mrs. Davenport secured an early passage to the States. They never knew who the robber was.
While confined with his wound, Plummer repeatedly asked permission of Doctor Glick to take a ride on horseback. The necessity for quiet while the wound was healing obliged the doctor invariably to refuse him. One morning he called as usual to see how the cure was progressing, and Plummer was not at home. The doctor supposed he had gone out into the town, and at a later hour called, and, on examination of the wound, was satisfied that he had been taking violent exercise. On questioning him, Plummer, who knew that the doctor dared not betray him, told him of the robbery of Davenport, which he had that day committed.
The robbers next broke into and rifled a bakery belonging to one Le Grau, a Frenchman, who lived on a back street in Bannack. Preparations were made for burning the house, but the design was not carried out.
While atrocities like these were daily increasing, a reign of terror more fearful in character and results pervaded the settlement. Every man’s life was endangered by the free and reckless use of fire-arms. The crack of pistols and guns, which weapons were always the first resort of the roughs in settling disputes, was heard at all hours of the day and night, in the saloon and restaurant.
Frequent and bloody affrays among themselves, often terminated in the death of one or both of the parties engaged, and sometimes of one or more of those who happened to be within range of the reckless firing while the quarrel was in progress. It was dangerous to pass along the streets, where stray bullets were not an exception, more dangerous still to attempt to allay a broil among desperadoes, who settled all difficulties with bowie-knives and revolvers.
On one of the days of this dismal period, two young men, named Banfield and Sapp, the first a gambler, the latter a miner, engaged in a game of poker in Cyrus Skinner’s saloon. During the game, Sapp saw Banfield abstract a card from the deck, by the aid of which he was enabled to declare a “flush” hand. He charged him with the theft. Jumping to his feet, Banfield drew his revolver, which he levelled at the head of his antagonist, who was unarmed. Jack Russell, who was watching the game, now interfered, and quiet being restored, the men resumed play. In a few moments Sapp again charged Banfield with cheating. Banfield fired at him without effect. Sapp being unarmed, Dr. Bissell thrust a revolver into his hand, and the two men at once engaged in a pistol fight, dodging around the posts which supported the roof, and firing at random until their revolvers were emptied. They then clinched, and Russell tried to separate them. Moore and Reeves were in one of the bunks fastened to the wall of the saloon, asleep. Roused by the firing both got up, and Moore, pistol in hand, at once joined in the fight. Placing the muzzle of his revolver in Russell’s ear, he pulled the trigger, and the cap failing to explode, he pulled a second time, with a like result. So rapid had been the movements of Moore, that it was not until after the second failure that Russell could turn his face toward him and exclaim,
“What do you mean?”