The next anecdote is suggestive of one, among many ways of incidentally expressing dislike of a man’s “style” in business matters. Buck Stinson had gone security for a friend, who levanted; but was pursued and brought back. A mischievous boy had been playing some ridiculous pranks, when his guardian, to whom the debt mentioned was due, spoke to him severely, and ordered him home. Buck at once interfered, telling the guardian that he should not correct the boy. On receiving for answer that it certainly would be done, as it was the duty of the boy’s protector to look after him, he drew his revolver, and thrusting it close to the citizen’s face, saying, “G—d d——n you, I don’t like you very well, any how,” was about to fire, when the latter seized the barrel and threw it up. A struggle ensued, and finding that he couldn’t fire, Stinson wrenched the weapon out of his opponent’s hand, and struck him heavily across the muscles of the neck, but failed to knock him down. The bar-keeper interfering, Stinson let go his hold, and swore he would shoot him; but he was quieted down. The gentleman being warned, made his way home at the double-quick, or faster, and put on his revolver and bowie, which he wore for fifteen days. At the end of this time, Plummer persuaded Stinson to apologize, which he did, and thereafter behaved with civility to that particular man.
The wild lawlessness and the reckless disregard for life which distinguished the outlaws, who had by this time concentrated at Bannack, will appear from the account of the first “Indian trouble.” If the facts here stated do not justify the formation of a Vigilance Committee in Montana, then may God help Uncle Sam’s nephews when they venture west of the River, in search of new diggings. In March, 1863, Charley Reeves, a prominent “clerk of St. Nicholas,” bought a Sheep-eater squaw; but she refused to live with him, alleging that she was ill-treated, and went back to her tribe, who were encamped on the rise of the hill, south of Yankee Flat, about fifty yards to the rear of the street. Reeves went after her, and sought to force her to come back with him, but on his attempting to use violence, an old chief interfered. The two grappled. Reeves, with a sudden effort, broke from him, striking him a blow with his pistol, and, in the scuffle, one barrel was harmlessly discharged.
The next evening, Moore and Reeves, in a state of intoxication, entered Goodrich’s saloon, laying down two double-barrelled shot-guns and four revolvers, on the counter, considerably to the discomfiture of the bar-keeper, who, we believe, would have sold his position very cheap, for cash, at that precise moment, and it is just possible that he might have accepted a good offer “on time.” They declared, while drinking, that if the d——d cowardly white folks on Yankee Flat, were afraid of the Indians, they were not, and that they would soon “set the ball a rolling.” Taking their weapons, they went off to the back of the houses, opposite the camp, and levelling their pieces, they fired into the tepee, wounding one Indian. They returned to the saloon and got three drinks more, boasting of what they had done, and accompanied by William Mitchell, of Minnesota, and two others, they went back, determined to complete their murderous work. The three above named then deliberately poured a volley into the tepee, with fatal effect. Mitchell, whose gun was loaded with an ounce ball and a charge of buckshot, killed a Frenchman named Brissette, who had run up to ascertain the cause of the first firing—the ball striking him in the forehead, and the buckshot wounding him in ten different places. The Indian chief, a lame Indian boy, and a pappoose, were also killed; but the number of the parties who were wounded has never been ascertained. John Burnes escaped with a broken thumb, and a man named Woods was shot in the groin, of which wound he has not yet entirely recovered. This unfortunate pair, like Brissette, had come to see the cause of the shooting, and of the yells of the savages. The murderers being told that they had killed white men, Moore replied, with great SANG FROID, “The d——d sons of b——s had no business there.”
CHAPTER VI.
THE TRIAL.
Desponding fear, of feeble fancies full,
Weak and unmanly, loosens every power.—Thomson.
The indignation of the citizens being aroused by this atrocious and unprovoked massacre, a mass meeting was held the following morning to take some action in the premises. Charley Moore and Reeves hearing of it, started early in the morning, on foot, towards Rattlesnake, Henry Plummer preceding them on horseback. Sentries were then posted all round the town, to prevent egress, volunteers were called for, to pursue the criminals, and Messrs. Lear, Higgings, O. J. Rockwell and Davenport at once followed on their track, coming up with them where they had hidden, in a thicket of brush, near the creek. The daylight was beginning to fade, and the cold was intense when a reinforcement arrived, on which the fugitives came out, delivered themselves up, and were conducted back to Bannack.
Plummer was tried and honorably acquitted, on account of Cleveland’s threats. Mitchell was banished, but he hid around the town for awhile, and never went away. Reeves and Moore were next tried. Mr. Rheem had promised the evening before to conduct the prosecution, and Judge Smith had undertaken the defense, when on the morning of the trial, Mr. Rheem announced that he was retained for the defense. This left the people without any lawyer or prosecutor. Mr. Coply at last undertook the case, but his talents not lying in that direction, he was not successful as an advocate. Judge Hoyt, from St. Paul, was elected Judge, and Hank Crawford, Sheriff. Owing to the peculiarly divided state of public opinion, it seemed almost impossible to select an impartial jury from the neighborhood, and therefore a messenger was sent to Godfrey’s Canon, where N. P. Langford, R. C. Knox, A. Godfrey, and others, were engaged in erecting a saw-mill, requesting them to come down to Bannack and sit on the jury. Messrs. Langford and Godfrey came down at once, to be ready for the trial the next day. The assembly of citizens numbered about five or six hundred, and to them the question was put, “Whether the prisoners should be tried by the people EN MASSE, or by a selected jury.” Some leading men advocated the first plan. N. P. Langford and several prominent residents took the other side, and argued the necessity for a jury. After several hours’ discussion, a jury was ordered, and the trial proceeded. At the conclusion of the evidence and argument, the case was given to the jury without any charge. The Judge also informed them that if they found the prisoners guilty, they must sentence them. At the first ballot, the vote stood: For death, 1; against it, 11. The question of the prisoners’ GUILT admitted of no denial. N. P. Langford alone voted for the penalty of death. A sealed verdict of banishment and confiscation of property was ultimately handed to the Judge, late in the evening. Moore and Reeves were banished from the Territory, but were permitted to stay at Deer Lodge till the Range would be passable.
In the morning, the Court again met, and the Judge informed the people that he had received the verdict, which he would now hand back to the foreman to read. Mr. Langford accordingly read it aloud.
From that time forward, a feeling of the bitterest hostility was manifested by the friends of Moore, Reeves and Mitchell toward all who were prominently connected with the proceedings.
During the trial, the roughs would swagger into the space allotted for the Judge and Jury, giving utterance to clearly understood threats, such as, “I’d like to see the G—d d——d Jury that would dare to hang Charley Reeves or Bill Moore,” etc., etc., which doubtless had fully as much weight with the Jury as the evidence had. The pretext of the prisoners that the Indians had killed some whites, friends of theirs, in ’49, while going to California, was accepted by the majority of the jurors as some sort of justification; but the truth is, they were afraid of their lives—and, it must be confessed, not without apparent reason.