Shortly after this, Cleveland came in to Goodrich’s saloon, and said he was CHIEF; that he knew all the d——d scoundrels from the “other side,” and would get even on some of them. A difficulty arose between him and Jeff. Perkins, about some money which the latter owed in the lower country. Jeff. assured him that he had settled the debt, and thereupon Jack said, “Well, if it’s settled, it’s all right;” but he still continued to refer to it, and kept reaching for his pistol. Plummer, who was present, told him that if he did not behave himself, he would take him in hand, for that Jeff. had settled the debt, and he ought to be satisfied. Jeff. went home for his derringers, and while he was absent, Jack Cleveland boastingly declared that he was afraid of none of them. Plummer jumped to his feet instantly, saying, “You d——d son of a b——h, I am tired of this,” and, drawing his pistol, he commenced firing at Cleveland. The first ball lodged in the beam overhead, where it still remains. The second struck him below the belt, and he fell to his knees, grasping wildly at his pistol, and exclaiming, “Plummer, you won’t shoot me when I’m down;” to which Plummer replied, “No you d——d son of a b——h; get up,” and, as he staggered to his feet, he shot him a little above the heart. The bullet, however, glanced on the rib, and went round his body. The next entered below the eye, and lodged in his head. The last missile went between Moore and another man, who was sitting on the bench. As may be supposed the citizen discovered that business called him outside immediately; and, met George Ives, with a pistol in his hand, followed by Reeves, who was similarly accoutred for the summary adjustment of “difficulties.”
Singular enough, it must appear to the inhabitants of settled communities, that a man was being shaved in the saloon at the time, and neither he nor the operator left off business—CUSTOM IS EVERYTHING, and fire-eating is demonstrably an acquired habit.
Ives and Reeves each took Plummer by the arm, and walked down street, asking as they went along: “Will the d——d strangling sons of b——s hang you now?”
Hank Crawford was, at this time, boarding with L. W. Davenport, of Bannack, and was somewhat out of health. His host came into the room, and said that there was a man shot somewhere up town, in a saloon. Crawford immediately went to where the crowd had gathered, and found that such was the fear of the desperadoes, that no one dared to lift the head of the dying man. Hank said aloud, that it was out of the question to leave a man in such a condition, and asked, “Is there no one that will take him home?” Some answered that they had no room; to which he replied, that he had not, either, but he would find a place for him; and, assisted by three others, he carried him to his own lodging—sending a messenger for the doctor.
The unfortunate man lived about three hours. Before his decease, he sent Crawford to Plummer for his blankets. Plummer asked Crawford what Jack had said about him; Crawford told him, “nothing.” “It is well for him,” said Plummer, “or I would have killed the d——d son of a b——h in his bed.” He repeated his question several times, very earnestly. Crawford then informed him that, in answer to numerous inquiries by himself and others, about Cleveland’s connections, he had said, “Poor Jack has got no friends. He has got it, and I guess he can stand it.” Crawford had him decently buried, but he knew, from that time, that Plummer had marked him for destruction, fearing that some of Cleveland’s secrets might have transpired, in which case he was aware that he would surely be hung at the first opportunity.
No action was taken about this murder for some time. It required a succession of horrible outrages to stimulate the citizens to their first feeble parody of justice. Shooting, duelling, and outrage, were from an early date, daily occurrences, in Bannack; and many was the foul deed done, of which no record has been preserved. As an instance of the free and easy state of society at this time, may be mentioned a “shooting scrape” between George Carrhart and George Ives, during the winter of ’62-3. The two men were talking together in the street, close to Carrhart’s cabin. Gradually they seemed to grow angry, and parted, Ives exclaiming aloud, “You d——d son of a b——h, I’ll shoot you,” and ran into a grocery for his revolver. Carrhart stepped into his cabin, and came out first, with his pistol in his hand, which he held by his side, the muzzle pointing downwards. George Ives came out, and turning his back on Carrhart, looked for him in the wrong direction—giving his antagonist a chance of shooting him in the back, if he desired to do so. Carrhart stood still till Ives turned, watching him closely. The instant Ives saw him, he swore an oath, and raising his pistol, let drive, but missed him by an inch or so, the bullet striking the wall of the house, close to which he was standing. Carrhart’s first shot was a miss-fire, and a second shot from Ives struck the ground. Carrhart’s second shot flashed right in Ives’s face, but did no damage, though the ball could hardly have missed more than a hairs’ breadth. Carrhart jumped into the house, and reaching his hand out, fired at his opponent. In the same fashion, his antagonist returned the compliment. This was continued till Ives’s revolver was emptied—Carrhart having one shot left. As Ives walked off to make his escape, Carrhart shot him in the back, near the side. The ball went through, and striking the ground in front of him, knocked up the dust ahead of him. Ives was not to be killed by a shot, and wanted to get another revolver, but Carrhart ran off down the street. Ives cursed him for a coward “shooting a man in the back.” They soon made up their quarrels, and Ives went and lived with Carrhart, on his ranche, for the rest of the winter.
Accidents will happen in the best regulated families, and we give a specimen of “casualties” pertaining to life in Bannack during this delightful period. Dr. Biddle, of Minnesota, and his wife, together with Mr. and Mrs. Short, and their hired man, were quietly sitting round their camp fire on Grasshopper Creek, when J. M. Castner, thinking that a lady in the peculiar situation of Mrs. Biddle would need the shelter of a house, went over to the camp, and sitting down, made his offer of assistance, which was politely acknowledged, but declined by the lady, on the ground that their wagon was very comfortably fitted up. Scarcely were the words uttered, when crack! went a revolver, from the door of a saloon, and the ball went so close to Castner’s ear, that it stung for two or three days. It is stated that he shifted the position of his head with amazing rapidity. Mrs. Biddle nearly fainted and became much excited, trembling with terror. Castner went over to the house, and saw Cyrus Skinner in the act of laying his revolver on the table, at the same time requesting a gentleman who was playing cards to count the balls in it. He at first refused, saying he was busy; but, being pressed, said, after making a hasty inspection, “Well, there are only four.” Skinner replied, “I nearly frightened the —— out of a fellow, over there.” Castner laid his hand on his shoulder, and said, “My friend, you nearly shot Mrs. Biddle.” Skinner declared that he would not have killed a woman “for the world,” and swore that he thought it was a camp of Indians, which would, in his view, have made the matter only an agreeable pastime. He asked Castner to drink, but the generous offer was declined. Probably the ball stuck in his throat. The Doctor accepted the invitation. These courtesies were like an invitation from a Captain to a Midshipman, “No compulsion, only you must.”
A little episode may here be introduced, as an illustration of an easy method of settling debts, mentioned by Shakespeare. The sentiment is the Earl of Warwick’s. The practical enforcement of the doctrine is to be credited in this instance, to Haze Lyons, of the Rocky Mountains, a self-constituted and energetic Receiver-General of all moneys and valuables not too hot or too heavy for transportation by man or horse, at short notice. The “King Maker” says:
“When the debt grows burdensome, and cannot be discharged
A sponge will wipe out all, and cost you nothing.”
The substitute for the “sponge” above alluded to, is, usually, in cases like the following, a revolver, which acts effectually, by “rubbing out” either the debt or the creditor, as circumstances may render desirable. Haze Lyons owed a board bill to a citizen of Bannack, who was informed that he had won $300 or $400 by gambling the night before, and accordingly asked him for it. He replied, “You son of a b——h, if you ask me for that again, I’ll make it unhealthy for you.” The creditor generously refrained from farther unpleasant inquiries, and the parties met again for the first time, face to face, at the gallows, on which Haze expiated his many crimes.