CHAPTER XII.

THE

VIGILANTES OF MONTANA,

OR

POPULAR JUSTICE

IN THE

ROCKY MOUNTAINS.

BEING A CORRECT AND IMPARTIAL NARRATIVE OF THE

CHASE, TRIAL, CAPTURE AND EXECUTION OF

HENRY PLUMMER’S

ROAD AGENT BAND,

TOGETHER WITH ACCOUNTS OF THE LIVES AND CRIMES OF

MANY OF THE ROBBERS AND DESPERADOES, THE WHOLE

BEING INTERSPERSED WITH SKETCHES OF LIFE IN THE

MINING CAMPS OF THE “FAR WEST;”

Forming the only reliable work on the subject ever offered the public.

BY PROF. THOS. J. DIMSDALE.

VIRGINIA CITY, M. T.:

MONTANA POST PRESS, D. W. TILTON & CO., BOOK AND JOB PRINTERS.

1866.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865,

By THOS. J. DIMSDALE,

In the Clerk’s Office of the 1st Judicial District of

Montana Territory.

PREFACE.

The object of the writer in presenting this narrative to the public,

is twofold. His intention is, in the first place, to furnish a correct

history of an organization administering justice without the sanction

of constitutional law; and secondly, to prove not only the necessity

for their action, but the equity of their proceedings.

Having an intimate acquaintance with parties cognizant of the facts

related, and feeling certain of the literal truth of the statements

contained in this history, he offers it to the people of the United

States, with the belief that its perusal will greatly modify the views

of those even who are most prejudiced against the summary retribution

of mountain law, and with the conviction that all honest and impartial

men will be willing to admit both the wisdom of the course pursued and

the salutary effect of the rule of the Vigilantes in the Territory of

Montana.

It is also hoped that the history of the celebrated body, the very

mention of whose name sounded as a death-knell in the ears of the

murderers and Road Agents, will be edifying and instructive to

the general reader. The incidents related are neither trivial in

themselves, nor unimportant in their results; and, while rivaling

fiction in interest, are unvarnished accounts of transactions, whose

fidelity can be vouched by thousands.

As a literary production, the author commits it to the examination

of the critical without a sigh. If any of these author-slayers are

inclined to be more severe in their judgment than he is himself, he

trusts they will receive the reward to which their justice entitles

them; and if they should pass it by, he cannot but think that they will

exercise a sound discretion, and avoid much useless labor. With all its

imperfections, here it is.

THOS. J. DIMSDALE.

CHAPTER I.

INTRODUCTORY--VIGILANCE COMMITTEES.

“_The teeth that bite hardest are out of sight._”--PROV.

The end of all good government is the safety and happiness of the

governed. It is not possible that a high state of civilization and

progress can be maintained unless the tenure of life and property is

secure; and it follows that the first efforts of a people in a new

country for the inauguration of the reign of peace, the sure precursor

of prosperity and stability, should be directed to the accomplishment

of this object. In newly settled mining districts, the necessity for

some effective organization of a judicial and protective character is

more keenly felt than it is in other places, where the less exciting

pursuits of agriculture and commerce mainly attract the attention and

occupy the time of the first inhabitants.

There are good reasons for this difference. The first is the entirely

dissimilar character of the populations; and the second, the possession

of vast sums of money by uneducated and unprincipled people, in all

places where the precious metals may be obtained at the cost of the

labor necessary to exhume them from the strata in which they lie

concealed.

In an agricultural country, the life of the pioneer settler is always

one of hard labor, of considerable privation, and of more or less

isolation, while the people who seek to clear a farm in the wild

forest, or who break up the virgin soil of the prairies are usually of

the steady and hard-working classes, needing little assistance from

courts of justice to enable them to maintain rights which are seldom

invaded; and whose differences, in the early days of the country, are,

for the most part, so slight as to be scarcely worth the cost of a

litigation more complicated than a friendly and, usually, gratuitous,

arbitration--submitted to the judgment of the most respected among the

citizens.

In marked contrast to the peaceful life of the tiller of the soil, and

to the placid monotony of his pursuits are the turbulent activity, the

constant excitement and the perpetual temptations to which the dweller

in a mining camp is subject, both during his sojourn in the gulches,

or, if he be given to prospecting, in his frequent and unpremeditated

change of location, commonly called a “stampede.” There can scarcely be

conceived a greater or more apparent difference than exists between the

staid and sedate inhabitants of rural districts, and the motley group

of miners, professional men and merchants, thickly interspersed with

sharpers, refugees, and a full selection from the dangerous classes

that swagger, armed to the teeth, through the diggings and infest the

roads leading to the newly discovered gulches, where lies the object of

their worship--Gold.

Fortunately the change to a better state of things is rapid, and none

who now walk the streets of Virginia would believe that, within two

years of this date, the great question to be decided was, which was the

stronger, right or might?

And here it must be stated, that the remarks which truth compels us

to make, concerning the classes of individuals which furnish the law

defying element of mining camps, are in no wise applicable to the

majority of the people, who, while exhibiting the characteristic energy

of the American race in the pursuit of wealth, yet maintain, under

every disadvantage, an essential morality, which is the more creditable

since it must be sincere, in order to withstand the temptations to

which it is constantly exposed. “Oh, cursed thirst of gold,” said the

ancient, and no man has even an inkling of the truth and force of the

sentiment, till he has lived where gold and silver are as much the

objects of desire, and of daily and laborious exertion, as glory and

promotion are to the young soldier. Were it not for the preponderance

of this conservative body of citizens, every camp in remote and

recently discovered mineral regions would be a field of blood; and

where this is not so, the fact is proof irresistible that the good is

in sufficient force to control the evil, and eventually to bring order

out of chaos.

Let the reader suppose that the police of New York were withdrawn for

twelve months, and then let them picture the wild saturnalia which

would take the place of the order that reigns there now. If, then,

it is so hard to restrain the dangerous classes of old and settled

communities, what must be the difficulty of the task, when, tenfold in

number, fearless in character, generally well armed, and supplied with

money to an extent unknown among their equals in the east, such men

find themselves removed from the restraints of civilized society, and

beyond the control of the authority which there enforces obedience to

the law.

Were it not for the sterling stuff of which the mass of miners is

made, their love of fair play, and their prompt and decisive action

in emergencies, this history could never have been written, for

desperadoes of every nation would have made this country a scene of

bloodshed and a sink of iniquity such as was never before witnessed.

Together with so much that is evil, no where is there so much that

is sternly opposed to dishonesty and violence as in the mountains;

and though careless of externals and style, to a degree elsewhere

unknown, the intrinsic value of manly uprightness is no where so

clearly exhibited and so well appreciated as in the Eldorado of the

west. Middling people do not live in these regions. A man or a woman

becomes better or worse by a trip towards the Pacific. The keen eye of

the experienced miner detects the imposter at a glance, and compels

his entire isolation, or his association with the class to which he

rightfully belongs.

Thousands of weak-minded people return, after a stay in the mountains,

varying in duration from a single day to a year, leaving the field

where only the strong of heart are fit to battle with difficulty, and

to win the golden crown which is the reward of persevering toil and

unbending firmness. There is no man more fit to serve his country in

any capacity requiring courage, integrity, and self-reliance, than

an “honest miner,” who has been tried and found true by a jury of

mountaineers.

The universal license that is, at first, a necessity of position

in such places, adds greatly to the number of crimes, and to the

facilities for their perpetration. Saloons, where poisonous liquors

are vended to all comers, and consumed in quantities sufficient to

drive excitable men to madness and to the commission of homicide, on

the slightest provocation, are to be found in amazing numbers, and the

villainous compounds there sold, under the generic name of whiskey,

are more familiarly distinguished by the cognomens of “Tangle-leg,”

“Forty-rod,” “Lightning,” “Tarantula-juice,” etc., terms only too truly

describing their acknowledged qualities.

The absence of good female society, in any due proportion to the

numbers of the opposite sex, is likewise an evil of great magnitude;

for men become rough, stern and cruel, to a surprising degree, under

such a state of things.

In every frequent street, public gambling houses with open doors and

loud music, are resorted to, in broad daylight, by hundreds--it might

almost be said--of all tribes and tongues, furnishing another fruitful

source of “difficulties,” which are commonly decided on the spot, by

an appeal to brute force, the stab of a knife, or the discharge of a

revolver. Women of easy virtue are to be seen promenading through the

camp, habited in the gayest and most costly apparel, and receiving

fabulous sums for their purchased favors. In fact, all the temptations

to vice are present in full display, with money in abundance to secure

the gratification of the desire for novelty and excitement, which is

the ruling passion of the mountaineer.

One “institution,” offering a shadowy and dangerous substitute for more

legitimate female association, deserves a more peculiar notice. This is

the “Hurdy-Gurdy” house. As soon as the men have left off work, these

places are opened, and dancing commences. Let the reader picture to

himself a large room, furnished with a bar at one end--where champagne

at $12 (in gold) per bottle, and “drinks” at twenty-five to fifty

cents, are wholesaled, (correctly speaking)--and divided, at the end of

this bar, by a railing running from side to side. The outer enclosure

is densely crowded (and, on particular occasions, the inner one also)

with men in every variety of garb that can be seen on the continent.

Beyond the barrier, sit the dancing women, called “hurdy-gurdies,”

sometimes dressed in uniform, but, more generally, habited according

to the dictates of individual caprice, in the finest clothes that

money can buy, and which are fashioned in the most attractive styles

that fancy can suggest. On one side is a raised orchestra. The music

suddenly strikes up, and the summons, “Take your partners for the next

dance,” is promptly answered by some of the male spectators, who paying

a dollar in gold for a ticket, approach the ladies’ bench, and--in

style polite, or otherwise, according to antecedents--invite one of the

ladies to dance.

The number being complete, the parties take their places, as in any

other dancing establishment, and pause for the performance of the

introductory notes of the air.

Let us describe a first class dancer--“sure of a partner every

time”--and her companion. There she stands at the head of the set. She

is of middle height, of rather full and rounded form; her complexion as

pure as alabaster, a pair of dangerous looking hazel eyes, a slightly

Roman nose, and a small and prettily formed mouth. Her auburn hair is

neatly banded and gathered in a tasteful, ornamented net, with a roll

and gold tassels at the side. How sedate she looks during the first

figure, never smiling till the termination of “promenade, eight,” when

she shows her little white hands in fixing her handsome brooch in

its place, and settling her glistening ear-rings. See how nicely her

scarlet dress, with its broad black band round the skirt, and its black

edging, sets off her dainty figure. No wonder that a wild mountaineer

would be willing to pay--not one dollar, but all that he has in his

purse, for a dance and an approving smile from so beautiful a woman.

Her cavalier stands six feet in his boots, which come to the knee, and

are garnished with a pair of Spanish spurs, with rowels and bells like

young water wheels. His buckskin leggings are fringed at the seams,

and gathered at the waist with a U. S. belt, from which hangs his

loaded revolver and his sheath knife. His neck is bare, muscular and

embrowned by exposure, as is also his bearded face, whose sombre hue is

relieved by a pair of piercing dark eyes. His long, black hair hangs

down beneath his wide felt hat, and, in the corner of his mouth, is

a cigar, which rolls like the lever of an eccentric, as he chews the

end in his mouth. After an amazingly grave salute, “all hands round”

is shouted by the prompter, and off bounds the buckskin hero, rising

and falling to the rhythm of the dance, with a clumsy agility and a

growing enthusiasm, testifying his huge delight. His fair partner, with

practiced foot and easy grace, keeps time to the music like a clock,

and rounds to her place as smoothly and gracefully as a swan. As the

dance progresses, he of the buckskins gets excited, and nothing but

long practice prevents his partner from being swept off her feet, at

the conclusion of the miner’s delight, “set your partners,” or “gents

to the right.” An Irish tune or a hornpipe generally finishes the set,

and then the thunder of heel and toe, and some amazing demivoltes

are brought to an end by the aforesaid, “gents to the right,” and

“promenade to the bar,” which last closes the dance. After a treat,

the bar-keeper mechanically raps his blower as a hint to “weigh out,”

the ladies sit down, and with scarcely an interval, a waltz, polka,

shottische, mazurka, varsovienne, or another quadrille commences.

All varieties of costume, physique and demeanor can be noticed among

the dancers--from the gayest colors and “loudest” styles of dress and

manner, to the snugly fitted black silk, and plain, white collar, which

sets off the neat figure of the blue-eyed, modest looking Anglo-Saxon.

Yonder, beside the tall and tastily clad German brunette, you see

the short curls, rounded tournure and smiling face of an Irish girl;

indeed, representatives of almost every dancing nation of white folks,

may be seen on the floor of the Hurdy-Gurdy house. The earnings of the

dancers are very different in amount. That dancer in the low necked

dress, with the scarlet “waist,” a great favorite and a really good

dancer, counted fifty tickets into her lap before “The last dance,

gentlemen,” followed by, “Only this one before the girls go home,”

which wound up the performance. Twenty-six dollars is a great deal of

money to earn in such a fashion; but fifty sets of quadrilles and four

waltzes, two of them for the love of the thing, is very hard work.

As a rule, however, the professional “hurdies” are Teutons, and, though

first rate dancers, they are, with some few exceptions, the reverse of

good looking.

The dance which is most attended, is one in which ladies to whom

pleasure is dearer than fame, represent the female element, and, as

may be supposed, the evil only COMMENCES at the Dance House. It is not

uncommon to see one of these syrens with an “outfit” worth from seven

to eight hundred dollars, and many of them invest with merchants and

bankers thousands of dollars in gold, the rewards and presents they

receive, especially the more highly favored ones, being more in a week,

than a well educated girl would earn in two years in an Eastern city.

In the Dance House you can see Judges, the Legislative corps, and

every one but the Minister. He never ventures further than to engage

in conversation with a friend at the door, and while intently watching

the performance, lectures on the evil of such places with considerable

force; but his attention is evidently more fixed upon the dancers than

on his lecture. Sometimes may be seen gray haired men dancing, their

wives sitting at home in blissful ignorance of the proceeding. There

never was a dance house running, for any length of time, in the first

days of a mining town, in which “shooting scrapes” do not occur; equal

proportions of jealousy, whiskey and revenge being the stimulants

thereto. Billiard saloons are everywhere visible, with a bar attached,

and hundreds of thousands of dollars are spent there. As might be

anticipated, it is impossible to prevent quarrels in these places, at

all times, and, in the mountains, whatever weapon is handiest--foot,

fist, knife, revolver, or derringer--it is instantly used. The

authentic, and, indeed, LITERALLY exact accounts which follow in the

course of this narrative will show that the remarks we have made on the

state of society in a new mining country, before a controlling power

asserts its sway, are in no degree exaggerated, but fall short of the

reality, as all description must.

One marked feature of social intercourse, and (after indulgence in

strong drink) the most fruitful source of quarrel and bloodshed is the

all pervading custom of using strong language on every occasion. Men

will say more than they mean, and the unwritten code of the miners,

based on a wrong view of what constitutes manhood, teaches them to

resent by force which should be answered by silent contempt.

Another powerful incentive to wrong doing is the absolute nullity of

the civil law in such cases. No matter what may be the proof, if the

criminal is well liked in the community, “Not Guilty” is almost certain

to be the verdict of the jury, despite the efforts of the Judge and

prosecutor. If the offender is a monied man, as well as a popular

citizen, the trial is only a farce--grave and prolonged, it is true

but capable of only one termination--a verdict of acquittal. In after

days, when police magistrates in cities can deal with crime, they do

so promptly. Costs are absolutely frightful, and fines tremendous. An

assault provoked by drunkenness, frequently costs a man as much as

thrashing forty different policemen would do, in New York. A trifling

“tight” is worth from $20 to $50 in dust, all expenses told, and so on.

One grand jury that we wot of, presented that it would be better to

leave the punishment of offenders to the Vigilantes, who always acted

impartially, and who would not permit the escape of proved criminals

on technical and absurd grounds--than to have justice defeated, as

in a certain case named. The date of that document is not ancient,

and though, of course, refused and destroyed, it was the deliberate

opinion, on oath, of the Grand Inquest, embodying the sentiment of

thousands of good citizens in the community.

Finally, swift and terrible retribution is the only preventive of

crime, while society is organizing in the far West. The long delay of

justice, the wearisome proceedings, the remembrance of old friendships,

etc., create a sympathy for the offender, so strong as to cause a

hatred of the avenging law, instead of inspiring a horror of the crime.

There is something in the excitement of continued stampedes that makes

men of quick temperaments uncontrollably impulsive. In the moment of

passion, they would slay all round them; but let the blood cool, and

they would share their last dollar with the men whose life they sought,

a day or two before.

Habits of thought rule communities more than laws, and the settled

opinion of a numerous class is, that calling a man a liar, a thief,

or a son of a b----h is provocation sufficient to justify instant

slaying. Juries do not ordinarily bother themselves about the lengthy

instruction they hear read by the court. They simply consider whether

the deed is a crime against the Mountain Code; and if not, “not guilty”

is the verdict, at once returned. Thieving, or any action which a miner

calls MEAN, will surely be visited with condign punishment, at the

hands of a Territorial jury. In such cases mercy there is none; but, in

affairs of single combats, assaults, shootings, stabbings, and highway

robberies, the civil law, with its positively awful expense and delay,

is worse than useless.

One other main point requires to be noticed. Any person of experience

will remember that the universal story of criminals, who have expiated

their crimes on the scaffold, or who are pining away in the hardships

of involuntary servitude--tells of habitual Sabbath breaking. This sin

is so general in newly discovered diggings in the mountains, that a

remonstrance usually produced no more fruit than a few jocular oaths

and a laugh. Religion is said to be “played out,” and a professing

Christian must keep straight, indeed, or he will be suspected of being

a hypocritical member of a tribe, to whom it would be very disagreeable

to talk about hemp.

Under these circumstances, it becomes an absolute necessity that

good, law-loving, and order-sustaining men should unite for mutual

protection, and for the salvation of the community. Being united,

they must act in harmony; repress disorder; punish crime, and prevent

outrage, or their organization would be a failure from the start, and

society would collapse in the throes of anarchy. None but extreme

penalties inflicted with promptitude, are of any avail to quell the

spirit of the desperadoes with whom they have to contend; considerable

numbers are required to cope successfully with the gangs of murderers,

desperadoes and robbers, who infest mining countries, and who, though

faithful to no other bond, yet all league willingly against the law.

Secret they must be, in council and membership, or they will remain

nearly useless for the detection of crime, in a country where equal

facilities for the transmission of intelligence are at the command of

the criminal and the judiciary; and an organization on this footing is

a VIGILANCE COMMITTEE.

Such was the state of affairs, when five men in Virginia, and four in

Bannack, initiated the movement which resulted in the formation of

a tribunal, supported by an omnipresent executive, comprising within

itself nearly every good man in the Territory, and pledged to render

impartial justice to friend and foe, without regard to clime, creed,

race or politics. In a few short weeks it was known that the voice of

justice had spoken, in tones that might not be disregarded. The face

of society was changed, as if by magic; for the Vigilantes, holding in

one hand the invisible, yet effectual shield of protection, and in the

other, the swift descending and inevitable sword of retribution, struck

from his nerveless grasp the weapon of the assassin; commanded the

brawler to cease from strife; warned the thief to steal no more; bade

the good citizen take courage, and compelled the ruffians and marauders

who had so long maintained the “reign of terror” in Montana, to fly the

Territory, or meet the just rewards of their crimes. Need we say that

they were at once obeyed? yet not before more than one hundred valuable

lives had been pitilessly sacrificed and twenty-four miscreants had met

a dog’s doom as the reward of their crimes.

To this hour, the whispered words, “Virginia Vigilantes,” would

blanch the cheek of the wildest and most redoubtable desperado, and

necessitate an instant election between flight and certain doom.

The administration of the lex talionis by self-constituted authority

is, undoubtedly, in civilized and settled communities, an outrage on

mankind. It is there, wholly unnecessary; but the sight of a few of the

mangled corpses of beloved friends and valued citizens; the whistle of

the desperado’s bullet, and the plunder of the fruits of the patient

toil of years spent in weary exile from home, in places where civil

law is as powerless as a palsied arm, from sheer lack of ability to

enforce its decrees--alter the basis of the reasoning, and reverse the

conclusion. In the case of the Vigilantes of Montana, it must be also

remembered that the Sheriff himself was the leader of the Road Agents,

and his deputies were the prominent members of the band.

The question of the propriety of establishing a Vigilance Committee,

depends upon the answers which ought to be given to the following

queries: Is it lawful for citizens to slay robbers or murderers, when

they catch them; or ought they to wait for policemen, where there are

none, or put them in penitentiaries not yet erected?

Gladly, indeed, we feel sure, would the Vigilantes cease from their

labor, and joyfully would they hail the advent of power, civil

or military, to take their place; but, till this is furnished by

Government, society must be preserved from demoralization and anarchy;

murder, arson and robbery must be prevented or punished, and road

agents must die. Justice, and protection from wrong to person or

property, are the birth-right of every American citizen, and these must

be furnished in the best and most effectual manner that circumstances

render possible. Furnished, however, they must be by constitutional

law, undoubtedly, wherever practical and efficient provision can be

made for its enforcement. But where justice is powerless as well as

blind; the strong arm of the mountaineer must wield her sword; for

“self preservation is the first law of nature.”

CHAPTER II.

THE SUNNY SIDE OF MOUNTAIN LIFE.

“The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,

Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel.”--SHAKS.

In the preceding chapter, it was necessary to show to the reader the

dark side of the cloud; but it has a golden lining, and though many

a cursory observer, or disappointed speculator, may deny this fact,

yet thousands have seen it, and know to their heart’s content that it

is there. Yes! Life in the mountains has many charms. The one great

blessing is perfect freedom. Untrammelled by the artificial restraints

of more highly organized society, character developes itself so

fully and so truly, that a man who has a friend, knows it, and there

is a warmth and depth in the attachment which unites the dwellers

in the wilderness, that is worth years of the insipid and uncertain

regard of so-called, polite circles, which, too often, passes by the

name of friendship, and, sometimes, insolently apes the attributes,

and dishonors the fame of love itself. Those who have slept at the

same watch-fire, and traversed together many a weary league, sharing

hardship and privations, are drawn together by ties which civilization

wots not of. Wounded or sick, far from home, and depending for life

itself, upon the ministration and tender care of some fellow traveller,

the memory of these deeds of mercy and kindly fellowship often mutually

rendered, is as an oasis in the desert, or as a crystal stream to the

fainting pilgrim.

As soon as towns are built, society commences to organize, and there

is something truly cheering in the ready hospitality, the unfeigned

welcome, and the friendly toleration of personal peculiarities which

mark the intercourse of the dwellers in the land of gold. Every one

does what pleases him best. Forms and ceremonies are at a discount, and

generosity has its home in the pure air of the Rocky Mountains. This

virtue, indeed, is as inseparable from mountaineers of all classes,

as the pick and shovel from the prospector. When a case of real

destitution, is made public, if any well known citizens will but take

a paper in his hand and go round with it, the amount collected would

astonish a dweller in Eastern cities, and it is a fact that gamblers

and saloon keepers are the very men who subscribe the most liberally.

Mountaineers think little of a few hundreds of dollars, when the

feelings are engaged, and the number of instances in which men have

been helped to fortunes and presented with valuable property by their

friends, is truly astonishing.

The Mountains also may be said to circumscribe and bound the paradise

of amiable and energetic women. For their labor they are paid

magnificently, and they are treated with a deference and liberality

unknown in other climes. There seems to be a law, unwritten but

scarcely ever transgressed, which assigns to a virtuous and amiable

woman, a power for good which she can never hope to attain elsewhere.

In his wildest excitement, a mountaineer respects a woman, and anything

like an insult offered to a lady, would be instantly resented,

probably with fatal effect, by any bystander. Dancing is the great

amusement with persons of both sexes, and we might say, of all ages.

The comparative disproportion between the male and female elements of

society, ensures the possessor of personal charms of the most ordinary

kind, if she be good natured, the greatest attention, and the most

liberal provision for her wants, whether real or fancied.

If two men are friends, an insult to one is resented by both, an

alliance offensive and defensive being a necessary condition of

friendship in the mountains. A popular citizen is safe everywhere, and

any man may be popular that has anything useful or genial about him.

“Putting on style,” or the assumption of aristocratic airs, is the

detestation of everybody. No one but a person lacking sense attempts

it. It is neither forgotten nor forgiven, and KILLS a man like a

bullet. It should also be remembered that no people more admire and

respect upright moral conduct, than do the sojourners in mining camps,

while at the same time none more thoroughly despise hypocrisy in

any shape. In fact, good men and good women may be as moral and as

religious as they choose to be, in the mining countries, and as happy

as human beings can be. Much they will miss that they have been used

to, and much they will receive that none offered them before.

Money is commonly plentiful; if prices are high, remuneration for work

is liberal, and, in the end, care and industry will achieve success and

procure competence. We have travelled far and seen much of the world,

and the result of our experience is a love for our mountain home, that

time and change of scene can never efface.

CHAPTER III.

SETTLEMENT OF MONTANA.

“I hear the tread of pioneers,

Of nations yet to be;

The first low wash of waves, where soon

Shall roll a human sea.”--WHITTIER.

Early in the Spring of 1862, the rumor of new and rich discoveries on

Salmon River, flew through Salt Lake City, Colorado, and other places

in the Territories. A great stampede was the consequence. Faith and

hope were in the ascendant among the motley crew that wended their

toilsome way by Fort Hall and Snake river, to the new Eldorado. As

the trains approached the goal of their desires, they were informed

that they could not get through with wagons, and shortly after came

the discouraging tidings that the new mines were overrun by a crowd

of gold-hunters from California, Oregon, and other western countries;

they were also told, that finding it impossible to obtain either claims

or labor, large bands of prospectors were already spreading over the

adjacent territory; and finally, that some new diggings had been

discovered at Deer Lodge.

The stream of emigration diverged from the halting place, where this

last welcome intelligence reached them. Some, turning towards Deer

Lodge, crossed the mountains, between Fort Lemhi and Horse Prairie

Creek, and, taking a cut-off to the left, endeavored to strike the

old trail from Salt Lake to Bitter Root and Deer Lodge Valleys. These

energetic miners crossed the Grasshopper Creek, below the Canon, and

finding good prospects there, some of the party remained, with a view

of practically testing their value. Others went on to Deer Lodge; but

finding that the diggings were neither so rich nor so extensive as they

had supposed, they returned to Grasshopper Creek--afterwards known as

the Beaver Head Diggings--so named from the Beaver Head River, into

which the creek empties. The river derives its appellation from a rock,

which exactly resembles, in its outline, the head of a Beaver.

From this camp--the rendezvous of the emigration--started, from time

to time, the bands of explorers who first discovered and worked the

gulches east of the Rocky Mountains, in the world renowned country now

the Territory of Montana. Other emigrants, coming by Deer Lodge, struck

the Beaver Head diggings; then the first party from Minnesota arrived;

after them, came a large part of the Fisk company who had travelled

under Government escort, from the same State, and a considerable number

drove through from Salt Lake City and Bitter Root, in the early part of

the winter, which was very open.

Among the later arrivals were some desperadoes and outlaws, from

the mines west of the mountains. In this gang were Henry Plummer,

afterwards the SHERIFF, Charley Reeves, Moore and Skinner. These

worthies had no sooner got the “lay of the country,” than they

commenced operations. Here it may be remarked, that if the professed

servants of God would only work for their master with the same energy

and persistent devotion, as the servants of the Devil use for their

employer, there would be no need of a Heaven above, for the earth

itself would be a Paradise.

CHAPTER IV.

THE ROAD AGENTS.

“Thieves for their robbery have authority

When judges steal themselves.”--SHAKESPEARE

It may easily be imagined that life in Bannack, in the early days of

the settlement, was anything but pleasant. The ruffians, whose advent

we have noticed, served as a nucleus, around which the disloyal,

the desperate, and the dishonest gathered, and quickly organizing

themselves into a band, with captain, lieutenants, secretary, road

agents, and outsiders, became the terror of the country. The stampede

to the Alder Gulch, which occurred early in June, 1863, and the

discovery of the rich placer diggings there, attracted many more of the

dangerous classes, who, scenting the prey from afar, flew like vultures

to the battle field.

Between Bannack and Virginia, a correspondence was constantly kept up,

and the roads throughout the Territory were under the surveillance of

the “outsiders” before mentioned. To such a system were these things

brought, that horses, men and coaches were marked in some understood

manner, to designate them as fit objects for plunder, and thus the

liers in wait had an opportunity of communicating the intelligence to

the members of the gang, in time to prevent the escape of the victims.

The usual arms of a road agent were a pair of revolvers, a

double-barrelled shot-gun, of large bore, with the barrels cut down

short, and to this they invariably added a knife or dagger. Thus armed

and mounted on fleet, well trained horses, and being disguised with

blankets and masks, the robbers awaited their prey in ambush. When near

enough, they sprang out on a keen run, with levelled shot-guns, and

usually gave the word, “Halt! Throw up your hands you sons of b----s!”

If this latter command were not instantly obeyed, there was the last of

the offender; but, in case he complied, as was usual, one or two sat

on their horses, covering the party with their guns, which were loaded

with buck-shot, and one, dismounting, disarmed the victims, and made

them throw their purses on the grass. This being done, and a search for

concealed property being effected, away rode the robbers, reported the

capture and divided the spoils.

The confession of two of their number one of whom, named Erastus Yager

alias Red, was hung in the Stinkingwater Valley, put the Committee

in possession of the names of the prominent men in the gang, and

eventually secured their death or voluntary banishment. The most noted

of the road agents, with a few exceptions were hanged by the Vigilance

Committee, or banished. A list of the place and date of execution of

the principle members of the band is here presented. The remainder of

the red calendar of crime and retribution will appear after the account

of the execution of Hunter:

NAMES, PLACE AND DATE OF EXECUTION.

George Ives, Nevada City, Dec. 21st 1863; Erastus Yager (Red) and G.

W. Brown, Stinkingwater Valley, January 4th, 1864; Henry Plummer, Ned

Ray and Buck Stinson, Bannack City, January 10th, 1864; George Lane,

(Club-foot George,) Frank Parish, Haze Lyons, Jack Gallagher and Boone

Helm, Virginia City, January 14th, 1864; Steven Marsland, Big Hole

Ranche, January 16th, 1864; William Bunton, Deer Lodge Valley, January

19th, 1864; Cyrus Skinner, Alexander Carter, and John Cooper, Hell Gate,

January 25th, 1864; George Shears, Frenchtown, January 24th, 1864;

Robert Zachary, Hell Gate, January 25th, 1864; William Graves alias

Whiskey Bill, Fort Owens, January 26th, 1864; William Hunter, Gallatin

Valley, February 3d, 1864; John Wagoner, (Dutch John) and Joe Pizanthia,

Bannack City, January 11th, 1864.

Judge Smith and J. Thurmond, the counsel of the road agents, were

banished. Thurmond brought an action, at Salt Lake, against Mr. Fox,

charging him with aiding in procuring his banishment. After some

peculiar developments of justice in Utah, he judiciously withdrew all

proceedings, and gave a receipt in full of all past and future claims

on the Vigilance Committee, in which instance he exhibited a wise

discretion--

“It’s no for naething the gled whistles.”

The Bannack branch of the Vigilantes also sent out of the country, H.

G. Sessions, convicted of circulating bogus dust, and one H. D. Moyer,

who furnished a room at midnight, for them to work in, together with

material for their labor. A man named Kustar was also banished for

recklessly shooting through the windows of the hotel opposite his place

of abode.

The circumstances attending the execution of J. A. Slade, and the

charges against him, will appear in full in a subsequent part of this

work. This case stands on a footing distinct from all the others.

Moore and Reeves were banished, as will afterwards appear, by a miners’

jury, at Bannack, in the winter of 1863, but came back in the Spring.

They fled the country when the Vigilantes commenced operations, and are

thought to be in Mexico.

Charley Forbes was a member of the gang; but being wounded in a

scuffle, or a robbery, a doctor was found and taken to where he lay.

Finding that he was incurable, it is believed that Moore and Reeves

shot him, to prevent his divulging what he knew of the band; but this

is uncertain. Some say he was killed by Moore and Reeves, in Red Rock

Canon.

The headquarters of the marauders was Rattlesnake Ranche. Plummer

often visited it, and the robbers used to camp, with their comrades,

in little wakiups above and below it, watching, and ready for fight,

flight or plunder. Two rods in front of this building was a sign post,

at which they used to practice with their revolvers. They were capital

shots. Plummer was the quickest hand with his revolver of any man in

the mountains. He could draw the pistol and discharge the five loads in

three seconds. The post was riddled with holes, and was looked upon as

quite a curiosity, until it was cut down, in the summer of 1863.

Another favorite resort of the gang was Dempsey’s Cottonwood Ranche.

The owner knew the character of the robbers, but had no connection

with them; and, in those days, a man’s life would not have been worth

fifteen minutes purchase, if the possessor had been foolish enough even

to hint at his knowledge of their doings. Daley’s, at Ramshorn Gulch,

and ranches or wakiups on the Madison, the Jefferson, Wisconsin Creek,

and Mill Creek, were also constantly occupied by members of the band.

By discoveries of the bodies of the victims, the confessions of the

murderers before execution, and reliable information sent to the

Committee, it was found that one hundred and two people had been

certainly killed by those miscreants in various places, and it was

believed, on the best information, that scores of unfortunates had

been murdered and buried, whose remains were never discovered, nor

their fate definitely ascertained. All that was known, was that they

started, with greater or less sums of money, for various places, and

were never heard of again.

CHAPTER V.

THE DARK DAYS OF MONTANA.

“Will all Neptune’s Ocean wash this blood

Clean from my hand?”--MACBETH.

Henry Plummer, a sketch of whose previous career will appear in a

subsequent part of this narrative, came to Montana Territory from

Orofino. He and Reeves had there got into a difficulty with another

man, and had settled the matter in the way usual in the trade--that is

to say, they shot him.

Plummer--who, it seems, had for a long time contemplated a visit to the

States--made at once for the River, intending to go down by boat; but

finding that he was too late, he came back to Gold Creek, and there

met Jack Cleveland, an old acquaintance, and former partner in crime.

They made arrangements to pass the winter together at Sun River Farm.

Plummer was to attend to the chores about the house, and Jack Cleveland

was to get the wood. The worthy couple true to their instincts, did not

long remain in harmony, but quarrelled about a young lady, whom Plummer

afterwards married. Neither would leave, unless the other went also,

and at last they both started, in company, for Bannack.

This town originated from the “Grasshopper Diggings,” which were first

discovered in the month of July, by John White and a small party of

prospectors, on the Grasshopper Creek, a tributary of the Beaverhead.

The discoverer, together with Rodolph Dorsett, was murdered by Charley

Kelly, in the month of December, 1863, near the Milk Ranche, on the

road from Virginia City to Helena. Wash Stapleton and his party came

in a short time after, and were soon joined by others, among whom

were W. B. Dance, S. T. Hauser, James Morley, Drury Underwood, F. M.

Thomson, N. P. Langford, James Fergus, John Potter, Judge Hoyt and Dr.

Hoyt, Chas. St. Clair, David Thompson, Buz Caven, Messrs. Burchett,

Morelle, Harby, J. M. Castner, Pat Bray and brother, Sturges, Col.

McLean, R. C. Knox, and other well known citizens of Montana. The name,

“Bannack,” was given to the settlement, from the Bannack Indians, the

lords of the soil. It was the first “mining camp” of any importance,

discovered on the eastern slope of the Mountains, and as the stories of

its wonderful richness went abroad, hundreds of scattered prospectors

flocked in, and before the following Spring, the inhabitants numbered

upwards of a thousand.

It is probable that there never was a mining town of the same size that

contained more desperadoes and lawless characters, than did Bannack,

during the winter of 1862-3. While a majority of the citizens were

of the sterling stock, which has ever furnished the true American

pioneers, there were great numbers of the most desperate class of

roughs and road agents, who had been roving though the mountains,

exiles from their former haunts in the mining settlements, from which

they had fled to avoid the penalties incurred by the commission of

many a fearful crime. These men no sooner heard of the rich mines

of Bannack, than they at once made for the new settlement, where,

among strangers, ignorant of their crimes, they would be secure from

punishment, at least until their true character should become known.

During their journey to Bannack, Cleveland often said, when a little

intoxicated, that Plummer was his meat. On their arrival at their

destination, they were, in Mountain phrase, “strapped;” that is, they

were without money or means; but Cleveland was not thus to be foiled;

the practice of his profession furnishing him with ample funds, at

the cost of a short ride and a pistol cartridge. In February, 1863, a

young man named George Evans, having a considerable sum of money on his

person, was hunting stock belonging to William Bates, beyond Buffalo

Creek, about eight miles from Bannack, and this man, it is believed,

was shot by Cleveland, and robbed, as the murderer--who had no money at

the time--was seen riding close to the place, and the next day he had

plenty. Evans’ partner, Ed. Hibbert, got a horse from J. M. Castner,

and searched for him in vain, returning impressed with the belief that

he had frozen to death. In a short time, a herder named Duke, a partner

of Jemmy Spence, was also hunting cattle, when he found Evans’ clothes

tucked into a badger hole. A body, which, however, was never fully

identified, was found naked in the willows, with a shot wound in the

right armpit. It seems as if the victim had seen a man about to shoot,

and had raised his arm deprecatingly.

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.

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.

To the delivery of this unfortunate verdict may be attributed the

ascendancy of the roughs. They thought the people were afraid of them.

Had the question been left to old Californians or experienced miners,

Plummer, Reeves and Moore would have been hanged, and much bloodshed

and suffering would have been thereby prevented. No organization of the

Road Agents would have been possible.

CHAPTER VII.

PLUMMER VERSUS CRAWFORD.

“I had rather chop this hand off at a blow

And with the other fling it at thy face,

Than bear so low a sail, to strike to thee.”

SHAKSPEARE--HENRY VI.

Crawford, who was appointed Sheriff at the trial of Moore and Reeves,

tendered his resignation on two or three different occasions; but was

induced to continue in office by the strongest representations of his

friends. They promised to stand by him in the execution of his duty,

and to remunerate him for his loss of time and money. The arms taken

from Plummer, Reeves and Mitchell were sold by Crawford to defray

expenses.

Popular sentiment is shifting and uncertain as a quicksand. Shortly

after this, “Old Tex,” one of the gang, collected a miners’ meeting,

and at it, it was resolved to give the thieves their arms, Plummer and

Tex claiming them as their property. The Sheriff had to go and get

them, paying, at the same time, all expenses, including in the list

even the board of the prisoners. For his services not a cent was ever

paid to him. Popular institutions are of divine origin. Government by

the people EN MASSE is the acme of absurdity.

Cleveland had three horses at the time of his death. One was at a

Ranch at Bannack, and two were down on Big Hole. Crawford called two

meetings, and was authorized to seize Cleveland’s property and sell

it, in order to reimburse himself for his outlay, which was both

considerable in amount and various in detail, and repay himself for

his outlay and expenses of various kinds. He went to old Tex who said

that Jack Cleveland had a partner, named Terwilliger, (another of

the gang) who was absent, and that he had better leave them till he

came back. One day Crawford wanted to go to Beaverhead, and wished

to take one of the horses to ride. Tex said it would be wrong to do

so. In a day or two after, Crawford saw the horse in town, and asking

Tex if it was not the animal. He said “No, it was not;” but Crawford,

doubting his statement, inquired of a man that he knew was perfectly

well informed on the subject, and found that it was as he supposed, and

that the ranchman had brought it in for Tex to ride during the journey

he contemplated, with the intention of meeting Terwilliger. Crawford

ordered the horse back, and desired that it should not be given to any

one. The man took it as directed. When the men were banished, Plummer

went to the Ranch, took the horse and rode it, when escorting the

culprits out of town. He then brought it back. Crawford who had charge

of the horse, asked Hunter if Tex had taken it. He said “no.”

The next evening, Crawford and some acquaintances went down to the

bakery to take a drink, and there met Plummer, who accused him of

ordering the horse to be kept from him, which he denied, and said he

never mentioned his name. Hunter being called by Plummer confirmed

the statement. He also observed, that he thought that as Plummer

had killed the man, he need not wish to take his money and his goods

also. Plummer then remarked that Bill Hunter did not stand to what he

had said, and left the house. He had dared Crawford to remain and face

Hunter’s testimony, expecting to raise a row and shoot him. Crawford

accepted the challenge, and, surrounded by his friends, with their

hands on their six shooters, awaited his coming. If he had moved his

hand to his pistol, he would have died on the spot, and knowing this,

he cooled off.

The next day he sent word to Crawford, by an old mountaineer, that he

had been wrongly informed, and that he wished to meet him as a friend.

He replied that he had been abused without cause, and that, if he

wanted to see him, he must come himself, as he was not going to accept

of such apologies by deputy. Plummer sent word two or three times,

to Hank, in the same way, and received the same reply; till at last

some of the boys brought them together, and they shook hands, Plummer

declaring that he desired his friendship ever after.

In a few days, Hank happened to be in a saloon, talking to a man who

had been fighting, when a suspicious looking individual came up to him,

and asked what he was talking about. He replied that it was none of his

business. The man retorted with a challenge to fight with pistols. Hank

said, “You have no odds of me with a pistol.” The fellow offered to

fight with fists. Hank agreed, and seeing that the man had no belt on,

took off his own, and laid his pistol in, on the bar. The man stepped

back into a dark corner, and Crawford going up, slapped him across the

face. He instantly leveled a six shooter at Crawford, which he had

concealed; but Hank was too quick, and catching him by the throat and

hand, disarmed him. Plummer joined the man, and together, they wrested

the pistol from his hand, and made a rush at him. Hank and Harry

Flegger, however, kept the pistol in spite of them. Harry fetched his

friend out, saying, “Come on Hank; this is no place for you; they are

set on murdering you, any way.” He then escorted him home. The owner of

the saloon told Crawford, afterwards, that it was all a plot. That the

scheme was to entice him out to fight with pistols, and that the gang

of Plummer’s friends were ready with double-barrelled shot-guns, to

kill him, as soon as he appeared.

Everything went on quietly for a few days, when Hank found he should

have to start for Deer Lodge, after cattle. Plummer told him that

he was going to Benton. Hank asked him to wait a day or two, and he

would go with him; but Plummer started on Monday morning, with George

Carrhart, before Hank’s horses came in. When the animals were brought

in, Hank found that private business would detain him, and accordingly

sent his butcher in his place. The next day Plummer, finding that he

was not going, stopped at Big Hole, and came back. Hank afterwards

learned that Plummer went out to catch him on the road, three different

times, but, fortunately, missed him.

During the week, Bill Hunter came to Hank, and pretended that he had

said something against him. To this Hank replied, that he knew what

he was after, and added, “If you want anything, you can get it right

straight along.” Not being able “to get the drop on him,” (in mountain

phrase) and finding that he could not intimidate him, he turned and

went off, never afterwards speaking to Hank.

On the following Sunday, Plummer came into a saloon where Hank was

conversing with George Purkins, and, addressing the latter, said,

“George, there’s a little matter between you and Hank that’s got to be

settled.” Hank said, “Well, I don’t know what it can be,” and laughed.

Plummer observed, “You needn’t laugh, G--d d----n you. It’s got to

be settled.” Turning to Purkins, he stated that he and Crawford had

said he was after a squaw, and had tried to court “Catharine.” He

commenced to abuse Purkins and telling him to “come out,” and that

he was “a cowardly son of a b----h.” He also declared that he could

“lick” both him and Hank Crawford. George said that he was a coward,

and no fighting man, and that he would not go out of doors with any

body. Plummer gave the same challenge to Hank, and received for a

reply, that he was not afraid to go out with any man, and that he did

not believe one man was made to scare another. Plummer said, “come

on,” and started ahead of Hank towards the street. Hank walked quite

close up to him, on his guard all the time, and Plummer at once said,

“Now pull your pistol.” Hank refused, saying, “I’ll pull no pistol; I

never pulled a pistol on a man, and you’ll not be the first.” He then

offered to fight him in any other way. “I’m no pistol shot,” he added,

“and you would not do it if you hadn’t the advantage.” Plummer said,

“If you don’t pull your pistol, I’ll shoot you like a sheep.” Hank

quietly laid his hand on his shoulder, and, fixing his eyes on him,

said slowly and firmly, “If that’s what you want, the quicker you do

it, the better for you,” and turning round, walked off. Plummer dared

not shoot without first raising a fuss, knowing that he would be hung.

During the altercation above narrated, Hank had kept close to Plummer

ready for a struggle, in case he offered to draw his pistol, well

knowing that his man was the best and quickest shot in the mountains;

and that if he had accepted his challenge, long before he could have

handled his own revolver, three or four balls would have passed through

his body. The two men understood one another, at parting. They looked

into each other’s eyes. They were mountaineers, and each man read, in

his opponent’s face, “Kill me, or I’ll kill you.” Plummer believed that

Hank had his secret, and one or the other must therefore die.

Hank went, at once, to his boarding house, and taking his

double-barrelled shot gun, prepared to go out, intending to find and

kill Plummer at sight. He was perfectly aware that all attempts at

pacification would be understood as indications of cowardice, and

would render his death a mere question of the goodness of Plummer’s

ammunition. Friends, however, interfered, and Hank could not get away

till after they left, late in the evening.

By the way, is it not rather remarkable, that if a man has a few

friends round him, and he happens to become involved in a fight,

the aforesaid sympathizers, instead of restraining his antagonist,

generally hold HIM, and wrestle all the strength out of him, frequently

enabling his opponent to strike him while in the grasp of his officious

backers? A change of the usual programme would be attended with

beneficial results, in nine cases out of ten. Another suggestion we

have to make, with a view to preventing actual hostilities, and that

is, that when a man raves and tears, shouting, “let go,” “let me

at him,” “hold my shirt while I pull off my coat,” or makes other

bellicose requests, an instant compliance with his demands will at once

prevent a fight. If two men, also, are abusing one another, in loud and

foul language, the way to prevent blows is to seize hold of them and

commencing to strip them for a fight, form a ring. This is commonly a

settler. No amount of coin could coax a battle out of them. Such is our

experience of all the loud mouthed brigade. Men that mean “fight” may

hiss a few muttered anathemas, through clenched teeth; but they seldom

talk much, and never bandy slang.

Hank started and hunted industriously for Plummer, who was himself

similarly employed, but they did not happen to meet.

The next morning, Hank’s friends endeavored to prevail upon him to

stay within doors until noon; but it was of no avail. He knew what was

before him, and that it must be settled, one way or the other. Report

came to him, that Plummer was about to leave town, which at once put

him on his guard. The attempt to ensnare him into a fatal carelessness

was too evident.

Taking his gun, he went up town, to the house of a friend--Buz Caven.

He borrowed Buz’s rifle, without remark, and stood prepared for

emergencies. After waiting some time, he went down to the butcher’s

shop which he kept, and saw Plummer frequently; but he always had

somebody close beside him, so that, without endangering another man’s

life, Hank could not fire.

He finally went out of sight, and sent a man to compromise, saying they

would agree to meet as strangers. He would never speak to Crawford, and

Crawford should never address him. Hank was too wary to fall into the

trap. He sent word back to Plummer that he had broken his word once,

and that his pledge of honor was no more than the wind, to him; that

one or the other had to suffer or leave.

A friend came to tell Hank that they were making arrangements to

shoot him in his own door, out of a house on the other side of the

street. Hank kept out of the door, and about noon, a lady, keeping a

restaurant, called to him to come and get a dish of coffee. He went

over without a gun. While he was drinking the coffee, Plummer, armed

with a double-barrelled gun, walked opposite to his shop door, watching

for a shot. A friend, Frank Ray, brought Hank a rifle. He instantly

leveled at Plummer, and fired. The ball broke his arm. His friends

gathered round him, and he said, “some son of a b----h has shot me.” He

was then carried off. He sent Hank a challenge to meet him in fifteen

days; but he paid no attention to a broken armed man’s challenge,

fifteen days ahead. In two days after, while Hank was in Meninghall’s

store, George Carrhart came in. Hank saw there was mischief in his

look, and went up to him at once, saying, “Now, George, I know what

you want. You had better go slow.” Stickney got close to him on the

other side, and repeated the caution. After a while he avowed that he

came to kill him; but, on hearing his story, he pulled open his coat,

showing his pistol ready in the band of his pants, and declared at the

same time that he would be his friend. Another party organized to come

down and shoot Crawford, but failed to carry out their intention. Some

of the citizens, hearing of this, offered to shoot or hang Plummer, if

Crawford would go with them; but he refused, and said he would take

care of himself. On the 13th of March, he started for Wisconsin, riding

on horseback to Fort Benton. He was followed by three men, but they

never came up with him, and taking boat at the river, he arrived safely

at home. It was his intention to come out in the Fall, and his brothers

sent him money for that purpose; but the coach was robbed, and all the

letters taken. The money, unfortunately, shared the fate of the mail.

Crawford was lately living at Virginia City--having returned shortly

after his marriage in the States.

The account of the troubles of one man, which we have given above, has

been inserted with the object of showing the state of society which

could permit such openly planned and persistent outrages, and which

necessitated such a method of defense. Crawford, or any of the others,

might as well have applied to the Emperor of China, for redress or

protection, as to any civil official.

The ball which struck Plummer in the arm ran down his bone, and lodged

in the wrist. After his execution, it was found brightened by the

constant friction of the joint. His pistol hand being injured for

belligerent purposes, though the limb was saved by the skill of the

attendant physician--Plummer practiced assiduously at drawing and

shooting with his left; attaining considerable proficiency; but he

never equalled the deadly activity and precision he had acquired with

the other hand, which he still preferred to use.

CHAPTER VIII.

A CALENDAR OF CRIMES.

The murderer’s curse, the dead man’s fixed still glare,

And fears and death’s cold sweat, they all are there.

Others connected with the mock trial which we have described, fared

badly, being waylaid and cruelly beaten. Mr. Ellis, the principal

witness was dogged every time he went to, or returning from his claim,

and finally was compelled to return to the States. He was followed to

Fort Benton, a distance of three hundred miles, escaping death at the

hands of his pursuers by slipping away secretly down the river, and

hiding till the steamer came past, when springing joyfully from his

place of concealment, and hailing her, he was taken on board.

N. P. Langford was an especial object of hatred to them. They had

counted on his favoring them, at the trial, because he voted for a

jury; but when they found that his ballot was cast for the death

penalty, they vowed vengeance against him, and a gentleman, his

particular friend. The latter could never go to his claim without a

loaded gun and a revolver. Once, the roughs had the plot all completed

for the assassination of Mr. Langford; but accident revealed their

preparations and intentions, and, through the timely warning of a

friend, the conspiracy failed. The combination of the comrades of the

two gentlemen, which embraced the order loving of the community, was

too strong to be openly defied by the roughs. The danger of sudden

surprise and assassination was, however, continued.

One day, as Langford’s friends were sauntering down Main street, he

saw Plummer approaching. He immediately drew a small bowie knife from

his belt, and began to whittle a billet of wood, which he picked up

for the purpose. Soon he came face to face with Plummer, who, looking

with suspicious intelligence at the weapon, asked: “Why do you begin to

whittle when you meet me?” The citizen regarding him with a stern and

determined look, promptly answered: “Mr. Plummer, you know what opinion

I hold concerning you and your friends, and I don’t never intend to let

you get the advantage of me. I don’t want to be shot down like a dog.”

Finding that Mitchell had not gone away from town, a great many

citizens thought it would be the height of injustice to keep Moore and

Reeves away at Hell Gate, where the snow prevented the passage of the

mountains, and, on Sunday, a miners’ meeting was called, at which their

sentence was remitted, by vote, and they accordingly came back.

An attempt had also been made, before this to rob the store of Messrs.

Higgins & Worden, of Deer Lodge; but the proprietors got word in time

to hide the safe.

The Walla Walla Express was robbed by the band of Road Agents. Plummer

directed this affair, and it is thought Long John had some share in it.

The men actually engaged in it are not known.

A Mr. Davenport and his wife were going to Benton, from Bannack,

intending to proceed by steamboat to the States. While taking a lunch

at Rattlesnake, a man masked in black suddenly came out of the willows,

near which they were camped, and demanded their money. Davenport

said he had none; the fellow laughed, and replied that his wife had,

and named the amount. A slight application of a Colt’s corkscrew,

which was pointed at Davenport’s head, brought forth his money, and

he was ordered, on pain of death, not to go back to Bannack at once;

but to leave his wife somewhere ahead. This Davenport promised, and

performed, after which he returned, and obtained some money from the

citizens to assist him in his necessity. His wife proceeded to the

States, where she arrived in safety. Davenport never knew who robbed

him.

The house of a Frenchman, named Le Grau, who kept a bakery and

blacksmith shop at the back of Main street, Bannack, was broken into,

and everything that could be found was stolen, after which the robbers

threw the curtains into a heap and tried to burn down the house,

but they failed in this. The greater part of the owner’s money was,

fortunately, hidden, and that they missed.

We have before spoken of Geo. Carrhart. He was a remarkably handsome

man, well educated, and it has been asserted that he was a member of

one of the Western Legislatures. His manners were those of a gentleman,

when he was sober; but an unfortunate love of whiskey had destroyed

him. On one or two occasions, when inebriated, he had ridden up and

down the street, with a shot-gun in his hand, threatening everybody. He

was extremely generous to a friend, and would make him a present of a

horse, an interest in a Ranch, or indeed, of anything that he thought

he needed. His fondness for intoxicating liquors threw him into bad

company, and caused his death.

One day, while sleeping in Skinner’s saloon, a young man of

acknowledged courage, named Dick Sap, was playing “poker” with George

Banefield, a gambler, whose love of money was considerably in excess of

his veneration for the eighth commandment. For the purpose of making a

“flush,” this worthy stole a card. Sap at once accused him of cheating,

on which he jumped up, drew his revolver, and leveled at Sap, who was

unarmed. A friend supplied the necessary weapon, and quick as thought,

Sap and Banefield exchanged all their shots, though, strange to say,

without effect, so far as they were personally concerned.

The quarrel was arranged after some little time, and then it was

found that Buz Caven’s dog, “Toodles,” which was under the table, had

been struck by three balls, and lay there dead. A groan from Carrhart

attracted attention, and his friends looking at him, discovered that

he had been shot through the bowels, accidentally, by Banefield.

Instantly Moore called to Reeves and Forbes, who were present, “Boys,

they have shot Carrhart; let’s kill them,” and raising his pistol, he

let fly twice at Sap’s head. Sap threw up his hands, having no weapon,

and the balls came so close that they cut one little finger badly, and

just grazed the other hand. The road agents fired promiscuously into

the retreating crowd, one ball wounding a young man, Goliath Reilly,

passing through his heel. Banefield was shot below the knee, and felt

his leg numbed and useless. He, however, dragged himself away to a

place of security, and was attended by a skillful physician; but,

refusing to submit to amputation, he died of mortification.

In proof of the insecurity of life and property in places where

such desperadoes as Plummer, Stinson, Ray and Skinner make their

headquarters, the following incident may be cited:

Late in the Spring of ’63, Winnemuck, a warrior chief of the Bannacks,

had come in with his band, and had camped in the brush, about

three-fourth of a mile above the town. Skinner and the roughs called

a meeting, and organized a band for the purpose of attacking and

murdering the whole tribe. The leaders, however, got so drunk that

the citizens became ashamed, and drooped off by degrees, till they

were so few that the enterprise was abandoned. A half-breed had in

the meantime, warned Winnemuck, and the wily old warrior lost no time

in preparing for the reception of the party. He sent his squaws and

pappooses to the rear, and posted his warriors, to the number of three

or four hundred, on the right side of a canyon, in such a position

that he could have slaughtered the whole command at his ease. This he

fully intended to do, if attacked, and also to have sacked the town

and killed every white in it. This would have been an achievement

requiring no extraordinary effort, and had not the drunkenness of the

outlaws defeated their murderous purpose, would undoubtedly have been

accomplished. In fact, the men whom the Vigilantes afterwards executed,

were ripe for any villainy, being Godless, fearless, worthless, and a

terror to the community.

In June of the same year, the report came in that Joe Carrigan, William

Mitchell, Joe Brown, Smith, Indian Dick, and four others had been

killed by the Indians, whom they had pursued to recover stolen stock,

and that overtaking them, they had dismounted and fired into their

tepees. The Indians attacked them when their pieces were emptied,

killed the whole nine, and took their stock.

Old Snag, a friendly chief, came into Bannack with his band,

immediately after this report. One of the tribe--a brother-in-law of

Johnny Grant, of Deer Lodge--was fired at by Haze Lyons, to empty

his revolver, for luck, on general principles, or for his pony--it

is uncertain which. A number of citizens, thinking it was an Indian

fight, ran out, and joined in the shooting. The savage jumped from his

horse, and, throwing down his blanket, ran for his life, shouting “Good

Indian.” A shot wounded him in the hip. (His horse’s leg was broken.)

But, though badly hurt, he climbed up the mountain and got away, still

shouting as he ran, “Good Indian,” meaning that he was friendly to

the whites. Carroll, a citizen of Bannack, had a little Indian girl

living with him, and Snag had called in to see her. Carroll witnessed

the shooting we have described, and running in, he informed Snag,

bidding him and his son ride off for their lives. The son ran out and

jumped on his horse. Old Snag stood in front of the door, on the edge

of the ditch, leaning upon his gun, which was in a sole leather case.

He had his lariet in his hand, and was talking to his daughter, Jemmy

Spence’s squaw, named Catherine. Buck Stinson, without saying a word,

walking to within four feet of him, and drawing his revolver, shot him

in the side. The Indian raised his right hand and said, “Oh! don’t.”

The answer was a ball in the neck, accompanied by the remark, enveloped

in oaths, “I’ll teach you to kill whites,” and then again he shot him

through the head. He was dead when the first citizen attracted by the

firing, ran up. Carroll, who was standing at the door, called out,

“Oh don’t shoot into the house; you’ll kill my folks.” Stinson turned

quickly upon him and roared out, with a volley of curses, topped off

with the customary expletive form of address adopted by the roughs,

“Put in your head, or I’ll shoot the top of it off.” Cyrus Skinner came

up and scalped the Indian. The band scattered in flight. One who was

behind, being wounded, plunged into the creek, seeking to escape, but

was killed as he crawled up the bank, and fell among the willows. He

was also scalped. The remainder of them got away, and the chief’s son,

checking his horse at a distance, waved to the men who had killed his

father to come on for a fight, but the bullets beginning to cut the

ground about him, he turned his horse and fled.

While the firing was going on, two ladies were preparing for a grand

ball supper in a house adjoining the scene of the murder of Snag. The

husband of one of them being absent, cutting house logs among the

timber, his wife, alarmed for his safety, ran out with her arms and

fingers extended with soft paste. She jumped the ditch at a bound, her

hair streaming in the wind, and shouted aloud, “Where’s Mr. ----? Will

nobody fetch me my husband?” We are happy to relate that the object of

her tender solicitude turned up uninjured, and if he was not grateful

for this display of affection, we submit to the ladies, without any

fear of contradiction, that he must be a monster.

The scalp of old Snag, the butchered chief, now hangs in a Banking

House, in Salt Lake City.

We have recorded a few, among many, of the crimes and outrages that

were daily committed in Bannack. The account is purposely literal

and exact. It is not pleasant to write of blasphemous and indecent

language, or to record foul and horrible crimes; but as the anatomist

must not shrink from the corpse, which taints the air, as he

investigates the symptoms and examines the results of disease, so, the

historian must either tell the truth for the instruction of mankind, or

sink to the level of a mercenary pander, who writes, not to inform the

people, but to enrich himself.

CHAPTER IX.

PERILS OF THE ROAD.

“I’ll read you matter deep and dangerous,

As full of peril and adventurous spirit,

As to o’erwalk a current, roaring loud,

On the unsteadfast footing of a spear.”--SHAK.

On the 14th day of November, 1863, Sam. T. Hauser, and N. P. Langford

started for the States, in company with seven or eight freighters.

Owing to some delay in their preparations, they were not ready to start

at the hour proposed (twelve o’clock P. M.) and after considerable

urging, they prevailed upon one of the freighters to delay his

departure till five o’clock P. M. representing to him that by driving

during part of the night, they would be enabled to overtake the rest

of the train at Horse Prairie, where they were to camp for the night.

These arrangements were all made at the store of George Chrisman, where

Plummer had his office, and consequently their plans for departure were

all known to this arch-villain.

During that afternoon, it was reported in Bannack that a silver lode

had been discovered, and Plummer, whose residence in Nevada had given

him some reputation as a judge of silver ores, was requested to go out

and examine it. Plummer had, on several occasions, been sent for to go

out and make minute examinations, and it had never been surmised that

his errands on these occasions were different from what they purported

to be. This notice to Plummer that a “silver lode” had been discovered,

was the signal that the occasion demanded the presence of the chief

of the gang, who was needed to head some marauding expedition that

required a skillful leader, and promised a rich booty as the reward of

success. Plummer always obeyed it, and in this instance, left Bannack

a little while after noon, taking a northerly direction, towards

Rattlesnake; but, after getting out of town, he changed his course and

went south, towards Horse Prairie.

Before leaving Bannack, he presented Mr. Hauser with a woolen scarf,

telling him that he would “find it useful on the journey these cold

nights.”

The two gentlemen did not complete their arrangements for starting

till half past seven in the evening; and, as they were about leaving

Hauser’s cabin, a splash, caused by the fall of some heavy body in

the water, and calls for assistance were heard from the brow of the

hill, south of Bannack. Upon going to the spot, it was found that

Henry Tilden, in attempting to cross the Bannack Ditch, had missed

the bridge, and his horse had fallen upon him in the water. On being

relieved from his dangerous situation, he went to the house of Judge

(now Governor) Edgerton, and reported that he had been robbed by three

men--one of whom was Plummer--between Horse Prairie and Bannack. After

he had detailed the circumstances, the greatest anxiety was felt for

the safety of Messrs. Langford and Hauser, who, it was generally

supposed had started at five o’clock on the same road.

The unconscious wayfarers, however, knew nothing of the matter, but

they were, nevertheless, on the alert all the time. Hauser had that

morning communicated to his friend Langford, his suspicion that they

were being watched, and would be followed by the road agents, with the

intention of plundering them, and while Langford was loading his gun

with twelve revolver balls in each barrel, George Dart asked him why

he was “filling the gun-barrel so full of lead;” to which Langford

replied, that if they had any trouble with the road agents, it would be

on that night. So well satisfied were they that an attack upon them,

was contemplated, that they carried their guns in their hands, ready

cocked, throughout the whole journey to Horse Prairie, a distance of

twelve miles, but they saw nothing of the ruffians who robbed young

Tilden.

It is supposed that Plummer and his gang had concluded that the

non-appearance of the party was owing to the knowledge of what had

happened in the afternoon, and that they were not coming out at all,

that night. This is the more probable, from the fact that Tilden

arrived home in time to have communicated the story of his robbery to

them before they started, and the freighter with whom they took passage

had told them that morning, in the presence of Plummer, that he would

leave them behind if they were not ready to start by five o’clock P.

M. It is not to be thought that Plummer would have risked a chance of

missing them, by robbing Tilden of so small an amount as $10, unless he

had felt sure that they would start at the time proposed. It is also

likely that, as his intended victims did not make their appearance, he

feared that the citizens of Bannack might turn out in search of the

Road Agents who had attacked Tilden, and that it would be prudent to

return home by a circuitous route, which he did. One thing is certain.

When they missed them, Plummer went, in hot haste, to Langford’s

boarding house, to inquire whether he was gone, and on receiving an

answer in the affirmative, rode off at once in pursuit.

In the wagon with Langford and Hauser, was a third passenger--a

stranger to the rest of the party--who had sent forward his blankets

by one of the vehicles which left at noon, and on his arrival at camp,

he found them appropriated by some of the party, who had given up all

ideas of seeing the others before morning, and had laid down for the

night.

Rather than disturb the sleepers, Langford directed his fellow

traveller, who was in delicate health, to occupy the wagon with Hauser,

while he himself took a buffalo robe and made a bedstead of mother

earth.

The night was a cold one, and becoming chilled through Langford arose

and at first walked briskly up and down by the camp, in order to warm

himself. After awhile, he turned his steps towards the creek, which was

about one hundred and fifty yards distant, but with the instinctive

caution engendered by a residence in the mountains, he armed himself

with his trusty “double-barrel,” and then, with his thoughts wandering

to other scenes and other days, he slowly sauntered by the rippling

waters.

His musings were brought to a sudden close by the murmur of voices,

born on the breeze, accompanied by the well known tramp of horses at

speed. The banks of the rivulet were lined with willows, and lay in

deep shadow, except where an opening in the thicket disclosed the

prairie that lay beyond, sleeping peacefully in the moonlight. Drawing

aside the bushes he saw three mounted men in the act of passing one of

these avenues, at the gallop. Roused to a sense of danger, he cocked

his gun and followed them down stream, to a place where an interval

between the thickets that lined both sides of the creek gave him a good

sight of the night rangers, and stood in full view, his piece lying in

the hollow of his hand, ready for instant service.

As soon as he emerged from the shelter of the willows, and the horsemen

became aware of his presence, they stopped for a few moments, and then

bore away down the valley, determined to see the end of the matter, and

having the brush for cover, while his friends were still within hail,

if needed, the watcher pushed on for about two hundred yards and wading

to the other bank, he had no sooner reached the top, than he saw four

men at that moment mounting their horses. No sooner did they observe

him than they drove their spurs into their horses’ flanks, and started

on a run for Bannack. These men were Plummer, Buck Stinson, Ned Ray and

George Ives, who, on their return to the town by another road, after

the robbery of Tilden, having found, as before related, that Langford

and Hauser had really gone--followed at once upon their track.

But for the providential circumstances connected with the chance

appropriation of the blankets, and the consequent sleeping of Langford

on the ground, together with his accidental appearance with his gun in

his hand, as if on guard--the whole party would have been murdered, as

it was known to their pursuers that they had a considerable amount of

treasure with them.

The scarf which Plummer presented to Hauser was given for the purpose

of enabling the cunning robber to identify his man by night.

It is a somewhat singular coincidence that Plummer was hung on the next

birth day of Hauser, (the 10th of January, 1864.)

The party proceeded on their journey without interruption, and on their

arrival at Salt Lake City, they were besieged by their acquaintances

with inquiries concerning several parties who were known to have

preceded them on the road thither by about a week; but the unfortunate

objects of their solicitude never reached their destination, or were

afterwards heard of. They sleep in bloody graves; but where, how,

and when they met their death, at the hands of the Road Agents, will

probably never be known. The fate that could not be avoided was,

nevertheless avenged.

CHAPTER X.

THE REPULSE.

“Though few the numbers--theirs the strife,

That neither spares nor speaks for life.”--BYRON.

In the present and succeeding chapters, will be found accounts

of actual experiences with Road Agents, in the practice of their

profession. The exact chronological order of the narrative has, in

these cases, been broken in upon, that the reader may have a correct

notion of what an attack by Road Agents usually was. We shall show at

a future time what it too often became when bloodshed was added to

rapine. As the facts related are isolated, the story is not injured by

the slight anachronism.

About three weeks after the occurrences recorded in the last chapter,

M. S. Moody, (Milt Moody) with three wagons started, in company with

a train of packers, for Salt Lake City. Among the later were John

McCormick, Billy Sloan, J. S. Rockfellow, J. M. Bozeman, Henry Branson

and M. V. Jones.

In the entire caravan there was probably from $75,000 to $80,000 in

gold, and it must not be supposed that such a splendid prize could

escape the lynx-eyed vigilance of the Road Agents.

Plummer engaged Dutch John and Steve Marshland for the job, and his

selection was not a bad one, so far as Dutch John was concerned, for

a more courageous, stalwart or reckless desperado never threw spurs

on the flanks of a cayuse, or cried “Halt!” to a true man. Steve

Marshland was a bold fellow when once in action; but he preferred

what mountaineers call a “soft thing,” to an open onslaught. This

unprofessional weakness not only saved the lives of several whom we are

proud to call friends, but ensured his own and his friends capture and

death, at the hands of the Vigilantes.

In Black Tail Deer Canyon, the party were seated at breakfast, close to

a sharp turn in the road, when they heard two men conversing, close at

hand, but hidden by the brush. Says the “First Robber,” “You take my

revolver and I’ll take yours, and you come on right after me.” Every

man found his gun between his knees in less than no time, and not a

few discovered that their revolvers were cocked. Pulsation became

more active, and heads were “dressed” towards the corner. In a few

moments, Dutch John and Steve Marshland rode round the bend, with their

shot-guns ready. On seeing the party prepared to receive them, they

looked confused, and reined up. Steve Marshland recognized Billy Sloan,

and called out, “How do you do, Mr. Sloan?” to which Billy replied,

“Very well, THANK YOU.” The last two words have been a trouble to Sloan

ever since, being too figurative for his conscience. By way of excuse

for their presence, the Road Agents asked if the party had seen any

horses, and whether they had any loose stock, saying that they had been

informed by some half-breeds that the animals which they claimed to be

lost had been with their train. A decided negative being vouchsafed,

they rode on.

The Robbers did not expect to come upon them so soon, and were not

masked. But for this fact, and the sight of the weapons on hand

for use, if required, the train would have been relieved of the

responsibility attaching to freighting treasure in those days, without

any delay.

Little did the party imagine that the safety of their property and

their lives hung upon a thread, and that, the evening before, the

“prudence” of Steve Marshland had saved six or eight of the party

from unexpected death. Yet so it was. Wagner and Marshland had

followed their trail, and hitching their steeds to the bush, with

their double-barrelled guns loaded with buckshot, and at full cock,

they crawled up to within fifteen feet of the camp, and leisurely

surveyed them by the light of the fire. The travellers lay around in

perfect ignorance of the proximity of the Road Agents; their guns were

everywhere but where they ought to be, and without a sentry to warn

them of the approach of danger, they carelessly exposed themselves to

death, and their property to seizure.

Wagner’s proposal was that he and Marshland should select their men,

and kill four with their shot-guns; that then they should move quickly

around, and keep up a rapid fire with their revolvers, shouting loudly

at the same time, to make them believe that they were attacked by a

large concealed force. There was no fear of their shooting away all

their charges, as the arms of the men who would inevitably fall would

be at their disposal, and the chances were a hundred to one that

the remainder would take to flight, and leave their treasure--for a

considerable time, at all events--within reach of the robbers. Steve,

however, “backed down,” and the attack was deferred till the next day.

It was the custom of the packers to ride ahead of the train towards

evening, in order to select a camping place, and it was while the

packers were thus separated from the train that the attack on the

wagons took place.

On top of the Divide, between Red Rock and Junction, the robbers rode

up to the wagons, called on them to halt, and gathering the drivers

together, Dutch John sat on his horse, covering them with his shot-gun,

while Steve dismounted and searched both them and their wagons.

Moody had slipped a revolver into his boot, which was not detected;

$100 in greenbacks, which were in his shirt pocket, were also

unnoticed. The material wealth of Kit Erskine and his comrade driver,

appeared to be represented by half a plug of tobacco, for the

preservation of which Kit pleaded; but Steve said it was “Just what he

wanted,” and appropriated it forthwith.

After attending to the men, Steve went for the wagons, which he

searched, cutting open the carpet sacks, and found $1,500 in treasury

notes; but he missed the gold, which was packed on the horses, in

cantinas. In the hind wagon was a sick man, named Kennedy, with his

comrade, Lank Forbes; but the nerves of the first mentioned gentleman

was so unstrung that he could not pull trigger, when Steve climbed up

and drew the curtain. Not so with Forbes. He let drive and wounded

Steve in the breast. With an oath and a yell, Steve fell to his knees,

but recovered, and jumping down from the wagon again fell, but rose and

made, afoot, for the tall timber, at an amazing speed. The noise of the

shot frightened Dutch John’s horse, which reared as John discharged

both barrels at the teamsters, and the lead whizzed past, just over

their heads, Moody dropped his hand to his boot, and seizing the

revolver, opened fire on Dutch John, who endeavored to increase the

distance between him and the wagons, to the best of his horse’s ability.

Three balls were sent after him, one of which took effect in his

shoulder. Had Moody jumped on Marshland’s horse and pursued him, he

could have killed him easily, as the shot gun was at his saddle bow.

These reflections, and suggestions, however, occur more readily to a

man sitting in an easy chair, than to the majority of the unfortunate

individuals who happen to be attacked by masked highwaymen.

John’s wound and Marshland’s were proof conclusive of their guilt, when

they were arrested. John made for Bannack and was nursed there. Steve

Marshland was taken care of at Deer Lodge.

The packers wondered what had become of the wagons, and, though their

anxiety was relieved, yet their astonishment was increased, when, about

8 o’clock P. M. Moody rode up and informed them that his train had been

attacked by Road Agents, who had been repulsed and wounded.

Steve’s horse, arms and equipage, together with twenty pounds of

tea, found lying on the road, which had been stolen from a Mormon

train, previously, were, as an acquaintance of ours expresses it,

“confiscated.”

J. S. Rockfellow and two others rode back, and striking the trail of

Steve, followed it till eleven P. M. When afterwards arrested, this

scoundrel admitted that they were within fifteen feet of him at one

time.

On the ground, they found scattered along the trail of the fugitive

robber, all the stolen packages, and envelopes, containing Treasury

notes; so that he made nothing by his venture, except frozen feet;

and he lost his horse, arms and traps. J. X. Beidler met Dutch John,

and bandaged up his frozen hands, little knowing who his frigid

acquaintance was. He never tells this story without observing, “That’s

just my darned luck;” at the same time polishing the butt of his “Navy”

with one hand, and scratching his head with the other, his gray eye

twinkling like a star before rain, with mingled humor and intelligence.

Lank Forbes claimed the horse and accoutrements of Steve as the lawful

spoil of his revolver, and the reward of his courage. A demurrer was

taken to this by Milt Moody, who had done the agreeable to Dutch John,

and the drivers put in a mild remonstrance on their own behalf, on the

naval principle that all ships in sight share in the prize captured.

They claimed that their “schooners,” were entitled to be represented by

the “steersmen.” The subject afforded infinite merriment to the party

at every camp. At last a Judge was elected, a jury was empannelled,

and the attorneys harangued the judicial packers. The verdict was that

Lank should remain seized and possessed of the property taken from the

enemy, upon payment of $20 to each of the teamsters, and $30 to Milt,

and thereupon the court adjourned. The travellers reached Salt Lake

City in safety.

CHAPTER XI.

THE ROBBERY OF PEABODY & CALDWELL’S COACH.

“On thy dial write, ‘Beware of thieves.’”--O. W. HOLMES.

Late in the month of October, 1863, the sickness of one of the drivers

making it necessary to procure a substitute, William Rumsey was engaged

to take the coach to Bannack. In the stage, as passengers, were

Messrs. Mattison, Percival and Wilkinson. After crossing the hills in

the neighborhood of Virginia City, it began to snow furiously, and

the storm continued without abatement, till they arrived within two

miles of John Baker’s Ranch, on Stinkingwater, a stream which owes its

euphonious appellation to the fact that the mountaineers who named

it found on its banks the putrifying corpses of Indians, suspended

horizontally according to their usual custom, from a frame work of

poles.

The corral at the station was found to be empty, and men were

despatched to hunt up the stock. The herdsmen came back at last with

only a portion of Peabody & Caldwell’s horses, the remainder belonging

to A. J. Oliver & Co. This detained them two hours, and finding that

they could do no better, they hitched up the leaders, that had come in

with the coach, and putting on two of Oliver’s stock for wheelers, they

drove through to Bob Dempsey’s on a run, in order to make up for lost

time.

At this place they took on board another passenger, Dan McFadden, more

familiarly known as “Bummer Dan.” The speed was maintained all the

way to Point of Rocks, then called Copeland’s Ranch. There they again

changed horses, and being still behind time, they went at the gallop to

Bill Bunton’s Ranch, on Rattlesnake, at which place they arrived about

sunset.

Here they discovered that the stock had been turned loose an hour

before their arrival, the people stating that they did not expect the

coach after its usual time was so long passed. Rumsey ordered them to

send a man to gather up the team, which was done, and, at dark, the

fellow came back, saying that he could not find them anywhere. The

consequence was that they were obliged to lie over for the night. This

was no great affliction; so they spent the time drinking whiskey, in

mountain style--Bill Bunton doing the honors and sharing the grog. They

had sense enough not to get drunk, being impressed with a reasonable

conviction of the probability of the violation of the rights of

property, if such should be the case. The driver had lost a pair of

gauntlet gloves at the same place, before. At daylight, all arose,

and two herders went out for the stock. One of them came back about

8 o’clock, and said that the stock was gone. A little before nine

o’clock, the other herder came in with the stock that had hauled the

coach over the last route.

The only way they could manage was to put on a span of the coach

horses, with two old “plugs” for the wheel. The whole affair was a

plan to delay the coach, as the horses brought in were worn down

stock, turned out to recruit, and not fit to put in harness. During

the previous evening, Bob Zachary, who seemed a great friend of

Wilkinson’s, told them that he had to go on horseback to Bannack, and

to take a spare horse with him, which he wanted him to ride. The offer

was not accepted at that time, but in the morning Bob told him that

he must go, for he could not bring the horse alone by himself. The

miserable team being brought out and harnessed up, Oliver’s regular

coach, and an extra one came in sight, just at the creek crossing. Soon

Rumsey shouted, “all aboard,” the other stages came up, and all the

passengers of the three vehicles turned in, on the mutual consolation

principle, for a drink. Rumsey who sat still on the box, called, “All

aboard for Bannack,” and all took their seats but Wilkinson, who said

he had concluded to go with Bob Zachary. Bill Bunton came out with the

bottle and the glass, and gave Rumsey a drink, saying that he had not

been in with the rest, telling him at the same time that he was going

to Bannack himself, and that he wanted them to wait till he had got

through with the rest of the passengers, for that then he would go with

them. While Bunton was in the house, Rumsey had been professionally

swinging the whip, and found his arm so lame from the exercise of the

day before, that he could not use it. He thereupon asked the boys if

any of them were good at whipping? but they all said “No.” It was

blustering, cold and cloudy--blowing hard; they let down the curtains.

Finally, Bunton appeared and Rumsey said, “Billy, are you good at

whipping?” To which he answered, “Yes,” and getting up, whipped away,

while Rumsey drove. A good deal of this kind of work was to be done,

and Bunton said he was “a d----d good whipper.” They crossed the creek

and went on the table land at a run. The horses, however, soon began to

weaken, Bunton whipping heavily, his object being to tire the stock.

Rumsey told him to “ease up on them,” or they would not carry them

through. Bunton replied that the wheelers were a pair that had “played

out” on the road, and had been turned out to rest. He added that if

they were put beyond a walk they would fail. They went on, at a slow

trot, to the gulch, and there fell into a walk, when Bunton gave up

the whip, saying that Rumsey could do the little whipping, necessary,

and got inside. He sat down on a box beside Bummer Dan. Percival and

Madison were on the fore seat, with their backs to the driver.

The stage moved on for about four minutes after this, when the coachman

saw two men wrapped in blankets, with a hood over their heads, and a

shot-gun apiece. The moment he saw them, it flashed through his mind,

“like gunpowder,” (as he afterwards said,) that they were Road Agents,

and he shouted at the top of his voice, “Look! look! boys! See what’s

a coming! Get out your arms!” Each man looked out of the nearest hole,

but Matteson, from his position was the only man that had a view of

them. They were on full run for the coach, coming out of a dry gulch,

ahead, and to the left of the road, which ran into the main canyon. He

instantly pulled open his coat, threw off his gloves, and laid his hand

on his pistol, just as they came up to the leaders, and sang out, “Up

wid your hands,” in a feigned voice and dialect. Rumsey pulled up the

horses; and they again shouted, “Up with your hands, you ----” (See

formula.) At that, Bill Bunton cried, imploringly, “Oh! for God’s

sake, men don’t kill one.” (He was stool-pitching a little, to teach

the rest of the passengers what to do.) “For God’s sake don’t kill

me. You can have all the money I’ve got.” Matteson was just going for

his pistol, when the Road Agents again shouted, “Up wid you’r hands,”

etc., “and keep them up.” Bunton went at his prayers again, piteously

exclaiming, “Oh! for God’s sake, men, don’t kill me. I’ll come right

to you. You can search me; I’ve got no arms.” At the same time he

commenced getting out on the same side of the coach as they were.

The Road Agents then roared out, “Get down, every ---- of you, and hold

up your hands, or we’ll shoot the first of you that puts them down.”

The passengers all got down in quick time. The robbers then turned to

Rumsey, and said, “Get down, you ----” (as usual) “and take off the

passengers’ arms.” This did not suit his fancy, so he replied, “You

must be d----d fools to think I’m going to get down and let this team

run away. You don’t want the team; it won’t do you any good.” “Get

down, you ----,” said the spokesman, angrily. “There’s a man that has

shown you he has no arms; let him take them,” suggested Billy. (Bunton

had turned up the skirts of his coat to prove that he had no weapons

on.) Bunton, who knew his business, called out, “I’ll hold the horses!

I’ll hold the horses!” The Road Agent who did the talking, turned to

him, saying, “Get up, you long-legged ----, and hold them.” Bunton at

once went to the leaders, behind the two Road Agents, and they wheeling

round to Billy Rumsey, ordered him down from the box. He tied the lines

round the handle of the brake and got down, receiving the following

polite reminder of his duty, “Now, you ----, take them arms off.”

“Needs must, when the Devil drives,” says the proverb, so off went

Billy to Bummer Dan, who had on two “Navies,” one on each side. Rumsey

took them, and walked off diagonally, thinking that he might get a shot

at them; but they were too knowing, and at once ordered him to throw

them on the ground. He laid them down, and going back to Matteson, took

his pistol off, laying it down besides the others, the robbers yelling

to him, “Hurry up, you ----.” He then went to Percival, but he had no

arms on.

The Road Agents next ordered him to take the passengers’ money, and

to throw it on the ground with the pistols. Rumsey walked over to

Percival, who taking out his sack, handed it to him. While he was

handing over, Bill Bunton took out his own purse, and threw it about

half way to Rumsey, saying, “There’s a hundred and twenty dollars for

you--all I have in the world; only don’t kill me.”

Billy next went to Bummer Dan, who handed out two purses from his

pocket. Rumsey took them, and threw them on the ground besides the

pistols. The next man was Matteson; but as he dropped his hands to

take out his money, the leader shouted, “Keep up your hands, you ----.

Take his money.” Rumsey approached him, and putting his hand into his

left pocket, found there a purse and a porte monnaie. Seizing the

opportunity, he asked--in a whisper--if there was anything in the porte

monnaie. He said “No.” Rumsey turned to the robbers and said, “You

don’t want this, do you?” holding up the porte monnaie. Matteson told

them that there was nothing in it but papers. They surlily answered,

“We don’t want that.” On examining the other pocket, the searcher found

a purse, which he threw out on the ground with the pistols.

They then demanded of Rumsey whether he had all; and on his answering

“Yes,” turning to Matteson the leader said, “Is that all you’ve got?”

“No,” said he, “there’s another in here.” He was holding up his hands

when he spoke, and he nudged the pocket with his elbow. The Road Agent

angrily ordered Rumsey to take it out, and not leave “Nothing.” He did

as he was bidden, and threw the purse on the ground, after which he

started for the coach, and had his foot on the hub of the wheel, when

the robbers yelled out, “Where are you going, you ----?” “To get on the

coach, you fool,” said the irate driver, “You’ve got all there is.” He

instantly retorted, “Go back there and get that big sack,” and added

pointing to Bummer Dan, “You’re the man we’re after. Get that strap off

your shoulder, you d----d Irish ----.” Bummer Dan had a strap over his

shoulder, fastened to a large purse, that went down into his pants. He

had thrown out two little sacks before.

Seeing that there was no chance of saving his money, he commenced

unbuckling the strap, and when Rumsey got to him he had it off. Billy

took hold of the tab to pull it out, but it would not come; whereupon

he let go and stepped back. Dan commenced to unbutton his pants, the

“Cap” ordering Rumsey to jerk it off, or he would shoot him in a

minute. While he was speaking, Rumsey saw that Dan had another strap

round his body, under his shirt. He stepped back again, saying, “You

fools! you’re not going to kill a man who is doing all he can for you.

Give him time.” They ordered him to hurry up, calling him “An awkward

----,” and telling him that they hadn’t any more time to lose. Dan had

by this time got the belt loose, and he handed Rumsey a big, fringed

bag, containing two other sacks. He received it, and tossed it beside

the pistols.

The Road Agents finished the proceedings by saying, “Get aboard, every

---- of you; and get out of this; and if we ever hear a word from one

of you, we’ll kill you surer than h--l.”

They all got aboard, with great promptitude, Bunton mounting beside the

driver, (he did not want to get inside then,) and commenced to whip

the horses, observing that that was a d----d hot place for him, and he

would get out of it as soon as he could. Rumsey saw, at a turn of the

road by looking over the coach, that the Road Agents had dismounted,

one holding the horses, while the other was picking up the plunder,

which amounted to about $2,800.

The coach went on to Bannack, and reported the robbery at Peabody’s

Express Office. George Hilderman was in Peabody’s when the coach

arrived. He seemed as much surprised as any of them. His business was

to hear what would happen, and to give word if the passengers named

either of the robbers, and then, on their return, they would have

murdered them. It was at this man’s place that Geo. Ives and the gang

with him were found. He was banished when Ives was hung. Had he been

caught only a little time afterwards, he would have swung with the

rest, as his villainies were known.

The Road Agents had a private mark on the coach, when it carried money,

and thus telegraphed it along the road. Rumsey told in Bannack whom he

suspected; but he was wrong. Bummer Dan and Percival knew them, and

told Matteson; but neither of them ever divulged it until the men were

hung. They were afraid of their lives. Frank Parish confessed his share

in this robbery. George Ives was the other.

CHAPTER XII.

THE SETTLEMENT OF VIRGINIA CITY AND THE MURDER OF DILLINGHAM.

Early in June, 1863, Alder Gulch was discovered by Tom Cover, Bill

Fairweather, Barney Hughes, Edgar and some others. It was a sheer

accident. After a long and unsuccessful tour, they came thither on

their way to Bannack, and one of them took a notion to try a pan of

dirt. A good prospect was obtained, and the lucky “panner” gave his

name to the far famed “Fairweather District.”

Tom Cover and some others of the party returned to Bannack for

provisions, and for the purpose of communicating the discovery to their

friends. A wild stampede was the consequence.

One poor fellow, while in the willows at Beaverhead, being mistaken for

a beaver, was accidentally shot by his comrade. He lived several days,

and was carefully nursed by his slayer, who was greatly grieved at the

occurrence. The stampeders came in with pack animals. Colonel McLean

brought the first vehicle to the Gulch. The stampede reached the Gulch

on the 6th of June. The course of the stream was marked by the alders,

that filled the Gulch so densely as to prevent passage, in many places.

Some people camped on the edge of the brush, about three-fourths of a

mile above the town, accidentally set it on fire, and with a tremendous

roar, the flames swept down the creek, and burned up the entire

undergrowth.

Almost immediately after the first great rush from Bannack--in

addition to the tents, brush wakiups and extempore fixings for

shelter--small log cabins were erected. The first of these was the

Mechanical Bakery, now standing near the lower end of Wallace street.

Morier’s saloon went up at about the same time, and the first dwelling

house was built by John Lyons. After this beginning, houses rose as if

by magic. Dick Hamilton, Root & Davis, J. E. McClurg, Hall & Simpson,

N. Story and O. C. Matthews, were among the first merchants. Dr. Steele

was first President of the Fairweather District. Dr. G. G. Bissel was

the first Judge of the Miners’ Court. The duty of the Recorder’s Office

was, we believe, performed by James Furgus.

Among the citizens were S. S. Short, Sweney and Rogers, (discoverers,)

Johnny Green, Nelson Ptomey, Judge Potter of Highland, Jem Galbraith,

Judge Smith, (afterwards banished,) W. F. Bartlett, C. Crouch, Bixter &

Co., Tom Conner, William Cadwell, W. Emerick, Frank Heald, Frank Woody,

Marcellus Lloyd, Washburne Stapleton, John Sharp, Jerry Nowlan, E. C.

Stickney, Frank Watkins, T. L. Luce, (Mechanical Bakery,) Robinson and

Cooley, the first bakers, (open air,) Hugh O’Neil, of fistic fame,

Jem Vivian, Jack Russell, the first man who panned out “wages” in

the Grasshopper Creek, Sargent Tisdale, W. Nowlan, of the Bank, Tom

Duffy, John Murphy, Jem Patton, Jno. Kane, Pat Lynch, John Robertson,

Worcester Wymans and Charley Wymans, Barney Gilson, and many others.

The first name given to the present capital of Montana, was “Varina,”

in honor of Jeff Davis’s wife, but it was soon changed to “Virgina.”

Dr. (Judge) G. G. Bissel was the first man that wrote it Virginia.

Being asked to head a legal document with “Varina,” he bluntly said he

would see them d----d first, for that was the name of Jeff. Davis’s

wife; and, accordingly, as he wrote it, so it remained. From this

little circumstance it will be seen that politics were anything but

forgotten on the banks of Alder Creek; but miners are sensible men, in

the main, and out in the mountains, a good man makes a good friend,

even where political opinions are widely different. The mountaineer

holds his own like a vice, and he extends the same privilege to others.

The theory is, “You may drive your stake where you darned please;

only, if you try to jump my claim, I’ll go for you, sure.”

That is the basis of the mountain man’s creed, in love, law, war,

mining, and in fact, in everything regulated by principle.

Of course a number of the roughs came over when the Gulch was settled,

prominent among whom was Cyrus Skinner. Per contra, “X,” was among

the early inhabitants, which fact reminds us of the line in Cato’s

soliloquy,

“My bane and antidote are both before me.”

The celebrated “Rogues Antidote,” aforesaid, has, however, survived all

the renowned Road Agents of the period alluded to. The true Western man

is persistent, tough, and hard to abolish. Fierce, flighty spirits,

like Lord Byron--when they get into trouble--say:

“Better perish by the shock,

Than moulder piece-meal on the rock.”

The motto of the Mountaineer, put into similar shape, would read:

Never say die, but brave the shock,

While there’s a shell-fish on the rock.

Which sentiment, though equally forcible, we reluctantly admit,

is, perhaps, a shade less poetical; but it is nevertheless, good

philosophy, which, with all respect for his lordship, is the reverse of

what should be said of the teaching derivable from the beautiful lines

of that erring genius.

As a proof of the address and tact of Plummer, and of the terrible

state of society, it may be mentioned that he got himself elected

Sheriff, at Bannack, despite of his known character, and immediately

appointed two of his Road Agents; Buck Stinson and Ned Ray, as

Deputies. Nor did he remain contented with that; but he had the

effrontery to propose to a brave and good man, in Virginia that he

should make way for him there, and as certain death would have been

the penalty for a refusal, he consented. Thus Plummer was actually

Sheriff of both places at once. This politic move threw the unfortunate

citizens into his hands completely, and by means of his robber

deputies--whose legal functions cloaked many a crime--he ruled with a

rod of iron.

The marvellous riches of the great Alder Gulch attracted crowds from

all the West, and afterwards from the East, also; among whom were many

diseased with crime to such an extent that for their cure, the only

available prescription was a stout cord and a good drop.

Plummer had appointed as his Deputies, Jack Gallagher, Buck Stinson and

Ned Ray. The head Deputy was a man of another stripe, entirely, named

Dillingham, who had accurate knowledge of the names of the members

of the Road Agent Band, and was also acquainted with many of their

plans, though he himself was innocent. He told a man named Dodge,

who was going to Virginia with Wash Stapleton and another, that Buck

Stinson, Haze Lyons and Charley Forbes intended to rob them. Dodge,

instead of keeping his council, foolishly revealed the whole affair

to the robbers, who, of course, were much struck at the news. Hays

ejaculated, “----, is that so?” The three men at once concluded to

murder Dillingham.

At Rattlesnake, Haze Lyons came to Wash Stapleton, who was on the road

between Bannack and Virginia, and asked him if he had heard about the

intended robbery, adding that he had followed Dillingham that far,

and that he had come to kill him, but he said that he feared that he

had heard about it, and had got out of the country. Wash who says

he has felt more comfortable, even when sleeping in church--at once

replied, “No; this is the first I’ve heard of it. I have only $100 in

greenbacks, and they may as well take them, if they want them, and let

me go.” The other swore it was all a d----d lie, and they separated.

The robbers went on to Virginia. Jack Gallagher came to X, and wanted

a pony for his friend Stinson to ride down the Gulch. At first his

request was refused, the owner saying that he wanted to ride it down

the Gulch, himself. Jack insisted, and promising that he would be back

in half an hour, X lent it to him. He was away for two hours, and the

proprietor was “as hot as a wolf,” when he came back. The truth was

that they had been consulting and fixing the programme for the murder,

which was arranged for the next day, they having discovered that

Dillingham was in the gulch.

In the morning, Buck Stinson, Haze Lyons and Charley Forbes might

be seen engaged in a grand “Medicine talk,” in the neighborhood of a

brush wakiup, where Dr. Steele was holding court, and trying the right

to a bar claim, the subject of a suit between F. Ray and D. Jones.

Dillingham was standing close by the impromptu Hall of Justice, when

the three Road Agents came up. “We want to see you,” said Haze; Stinson

walked a pace or two ahead of the others. Haze was on one side and

Forbes was behind. “Bring him along! Make him come!” said Buck Stinson,

half turning and looking over his shoulder. They walked on about ten

paces, when they all stopped, and the three faced towards Dillingham.

“---- you, take back those lies,” said Haze, and instantly the three

pulled their pistols and fired, so closely together that eye-sight was

a surer evidence of the number of shots discharged than hearing. There

was a difference, however; Haze fired first; his ball taking effect

in the thigh. Dillingham put his hand to the spot, and groaned. Buck

Stinson’s bullet went over his head; but Charley Forbes’ shot passed

through his breast. On receiving the bullet in the chest, Dillingham

fell like an empty sack. He was carried into a brush wakiup, and lived

but a very short time.

Jack Gallagher, being Deputy Sheriff, settled the matter very neatly

and effectively (for his friends.) He rushed out, as per agreement, and

took their pistols, putting them together and reloading Buck Stinson’s,

so that no one knew (that would tell) whose pistols fired the fatal

shots.

The men were, of course, arrested. Red tape is an institution not yet

introduced among miners. A captain of the guard, elected by the people,

and a detail of miners, took charge of the prisoners, who were lodged

in a log building, where John Mings’ store now stands.

A people’s court was organized and the trial commenced. It was a trial

by the people EN MASSE. For our own part, knowing as we do the utter

impossibility of all the voters hearing half the testimony; seeing,

also, that the good and the bad are mingled, and that a thief’s vote

will kill the well considered verdict of the best citizen, in such

localities and under such circumstances, verdicts are as uncertain

as the direction of the wind on next Tibb’s Eve. We often hear of

the justice of the masses--“in the LONG run;” but a man may get hung

“in the SHORT run”--or may escape the rope he has so remorselessly

earned, which is, by a thousand chances to one, the more likely

result of a mass trial. The chance of a just verdict being rendered

is almost a nullity. Prejudice, or selfish fear of consequences, and

not reason, rules the illiterate, the lawless, and the uncivilized.

These latter are in large numbers in such places, and if they do

right, it is by mistake. We are of Tenterden’s opinion in the matter

of juries, (in cases like these.) “Gentlemen of the Jury,” said his

Lordship, to eleven hard looking followers of a consequential foreman,

in an appalling state of watch-chain and shirt frill, “Allow me to

congratulate you upon the soundness of your verdict; it is highly

creditable to you.” “My Lord,” replied the pursy and fussy little

bald-pated and spectacled foreman, “The ground on which we based our

verdict, was--” “Pardon me, Mr. Foreman,” interrupted the Judge, “Your

verdict is perfectly correct; the ground on which it is based is most

probably entirely untenable.” The favors of the dangerous classes

are bestowed, not on the worthy, but on the popular, who are their

uncommissioned leaders. Such favors are distributed like sailors’ prize

money, which is nautically supposed to be sifted through a ladder. What

goes through is for the officers; what sticks on the rounds is for the

men.

James Brown and H. P. A. Smith, were in favor of a trial by twelve

men; but E. R. Cutler opposed this, for he knew that the jury would

have been impanneled by a Road Agent Sheriff. A vote was taken on the

question, by “Ayes” and “Noes;” but this failing, two wagons were drawn

up, with an interval between them. Those in favor of a trial by a jury

of twelve went through first. Those who preferred a trial by the people

traversed the vehicular defile afterwards. The motion of a jury for the

whole prevailed.

Judge G. G. Bissell was appointed President by virtue of his office.

He stated that it was an irregular proceeding, but that if the people

would appoint two reliable men to sit with him, he would carry it

through. This was agreed to, Dr. Steel and Dr. Rutar being chosen as

associates. Three Doctors were thus appointed Judges, and naturally

enough directed the “medicine talk” on the subject.

E. R. Cutler, a blacksmith, was appointed Public Prosecutor; Jem Brown

was elected assistant; Judge H. P. A. Smith was for the defense, and

the whole body of the people were Jurors. We may add that the jury box

was Alder Gulch, and that the throne of Justice was a wagon, drawn up

at the foot of what is now Wallace street.

The trial commenced by the indictment of Buck Stinson and Haze Lyons,

and continued till dark, when the court adjourned. The prisoners were

placed under a strong guard at night. They were going to chain them,

but they would not submit. Charley Forbes said he “would suffer death

first.” This (of course?) suited the guard of miners, and quick as

a flash, down came six shot guns in a line with Charley’s head. The

opinion of this gentlemen on the subject of practical concatenation

underwent an instantaneous change. He said, mildly, “Chain me.” The

fetters were composed of a light logging chain and padlocks.

All was quiet during the rest of the night; but Haze sent for a

“leading citizen,” who, covered by the guns of the guard, approached

and asked him what he wanted. “Why,” said he, “I want you to let these

men off. I am the man that killed Dillingham. I came over to do it,

and these men are innocent. I was sent here by the best men in Bannack

to do it.” Upon being asked who they were, he named some of the best

citizens, and then added, “Henry Plummer told me to shoot him.” The

first half of the statement was an impossible falsehood, many of the

men knowing nothing of the affair for several days after. The last

statement was exactly true.

After breakfast, the trial was resumed, and continued till near noon.

The attorneys had by this time finished their pleas, and the question

was submitted to the people, “GUILTY, OR NOT GUILTY?” A nearly

unanimous verdict of “Guilty,” was returned. The question as to the

punishment to be inflicted was next submitted by the President, and a

chorus of voices from all parts of the vast assembly, shouted, “Hang

them.” Men were at once appointed to build a scaffold and to dig the

graves of the doomed criminals.

CHAPTER XII.

In the meantime, Charley Forbes’ trial went on. An effort was made to

save Charley on account of his good looks and education, by producing

a fully loaded pistol, which they proved (?) was his. It was, however,

Buck Stinson’s, and had been “set right” by Gallagher. The miners

had got weary, and many had wandered off, when the question was put;

but his own masterly appeal, which was one of the finest efforts of

eloquence ever made in the mountains, saved him.

Forbes was a splendid looking fellow--straight as a ramrod; handsome,

brave and agile as a cat, in his movements. His friends believed

that he excelled Plummer in quickness and dexterity at handling his

revolver. He had the scabbard sewn to the belt, and wore the buckle

always exactly in front, so that his hand might grasp the butt, with

the forefinger on the trigger and the thumb on the cock, with perfect

certainty, whenever it was needed, which was pretty often.

Charley told a gentleman of the highest respectability that he killed

Dillingham, and he used to laugh at the “softness” of the miners who

acquitted him. He moreover warned the gentleman mentioned that he would

be attacked on his road to Salt Lake; but the citizen was no way scary,

and said, “You can’t do it, Charley; your boys are scattered and we

are together, and we shall give you ----, if you try it.” The party

made a sixty mile drive the first day, and thus escaped molestation.

Charley had corresponded with the press, some articles on the state and

prospects of the Territory having appeared in the California papers,

and were very well written.

Charley was acquitted by a nearly unanimous vote. Judge Smith burst

into tears, fell on his neck and kissed him, exclaiming, “My boy! my

boy!” Hundreds pressed round him, shaking hands and cheering, till it

seemed to strike them all at once, that there were two men to hang,

which was even more exciting, and the crowd “broke” for the “jail.”

A wagon was drawn up by the people to the door, in which the criminals

were to ride to the gallows. They were then ordered to get into the

wagon, which they did, several of their friends climbing in with them.

At this juncture, Judge Smith was called for, and then, amidst

tremendous excitement and confusion; Haze Lyons crying and imploring

mercy; a number of ladies, much affected, begged earnestly to “Save the

poor young boys’ lives.” The ladies admit the crying; but declare that

they wept in the interest of fair play. One of them saw Forbes kill

Dillingham, and felt that it was popular murder to hang Stinson and

Lyons, and let off the chief desperado, because he was good looking.

She had furnished the sheet with which the dead body was covered.

We cannot blame the gentle hearted creatures; but we deprecate the

practice of admitting the ladies to such places. They are out of

their path. Such sights are unfit for them to behold, and in rough

and masculine business of every kind, women should bear no part. It

unsexes them and destroys the most lovely parts of their character.

A woman is a queen in her own home; but we neither want her as a

blacksmith, a plough-woman, a soldier, a lawyer, a doctor, nor in any

such professions or handicraft. As sisters, mothers, nurses, friends,

sweethearts and wives, they are the salt of the earth, the sheet anchor

of society, and the humanizing and purifying element in humanity. As

such, they cannot be too much respected, loved and protected. But from

Blue Stockings, Bloomers, and strong-minded she-males, generally, “Good

Lord, deliver us.”

A letter (written by other parties to suit the occasion) was produced,

and a gentleman--a friend of Lyons--asked that “The letter which Haze

had written to his mother, might be read.” This was done, amid cries of

“Read the letter,” “---- the letter;” while others who saw how it would

turn out, shouted, “Give him a horse and let him go to his mother.”

A vote was taken again, after it had all been settled, as before

mentioned--the first time by ayes and noes. Both parties claimed the

victory. The second party was arranged so that the party for hanging

should go up-hill, and the party for clearing should go down-hill.

The down-hill men claimed that the prisoners were acquitted; but the

up-hills would not give way. All this time, confusion confounded

reigned around the wagon. The third vote was differently managed.

Two pairs of men were chosen. Between one pair passed those who were

for carrying the sentence into execution, and between the other pair

marched those who were for setting them at liberty. The latter party

ingeniously increased their votes by the simple but effectual expedient

of passing through several times, and finally, an honest Irish miner,

who was not so weak-kneed as the rest, shouted out, “Be ----, there’s

a bloody naygur voted three times.” The descendant of Ham broke for

the willows at top speed, on hearing this announcement. This vote

settled the question, and Gallagher, pistol in hand, shouted, “Let

them go, they’re cleared.” Amidst a thousand confused cries of, “Give

the murderers a horse,” “Let them go,” “Hurrah!” etc., one of the

men, seeing a horse with an Indian saddle, belonging to a Blackfoot

squaw, seized it, and mounting both on the same animal, the assassins

rode at a gallop out of the gulch. One of the guard remarked to

another--pointing at the same time to the gallows--“There is a monument

of disappointed Justice.”

While all this miserable farce was being enacted, the poor victim of

the pardoned murderers lay stark and stiff on a gambling table, in a

brush wakiup, in the gulch. Judge Smith came to X, and asked if men

enough could not be found to bury Dillingham. X said there were plenty,

and, obtaining a wagon, they put the body into a coffin, and started

up the “Branch,” towards the present graveyard on Cemetery Hill,

where the first grave was opened in Virginia, to receive the body of

the murdered man. As the party proceeded, a man said to Judge Smith;

“Only for my dear wife and daughter, the poor fellows would have been

hanged.” A citizen, seeing that the so-called ladies had not a tear to

shed for the VICTIM, promptly answered, “I take notice that your dear

wife and daughter have no tears for poor Dillingham; but only for two

murderers.” “Oh,” said the husband, “I cried for Dillingham.” “Darned

well you thought of it,” replied the mountaineer. A party of eight or

ten were around the grave, when one asked who would perform the burial

service. Some one said, “Judge, you have been doing the talking for the

last three days, and you had better pray.” The individual addressed

knelt down and made a long and appropriate prayer; but it must be

stated that he was so intoxicated that kneeling, was, at least, as

much a convenience as it was a necessity. Some men never “experience

religion” unless they are drunk. They pass through the convivial and

the narrative stages, into the garrulous, from which they sail into

the religious, and are deeply affected. The scene closes with the

lachrymose or weeping development, ending in pig like slumbers. Any one

thus moved by liquor is not reliable.