One of the most striking characteristics of the Westerner
is the high regard in which he holds womankind. Even in the
roughest mining camps a woman is absolutely safe, and is
treated with a consideration unknown in many more civilized
centres. This remarkable story illustrates the Westerner’s
innate chivalry in a very striking fashion. Sooner than drag
the name of a young schoolmistress into a quarrel, a resident
of Three Corners, Montana, allowed himself to be made an
outlaw, and for weeks defied the population of a whole county
to arrest him, even when a field gun was brought out to shell
his fastness. How in his extremity the girl he had befriended
came to his rescue and put an end to this extraordinary “war”
is graphically told in the narrative.
In the extreme western part of the State of Montana, U.S.A., in the
County of Beulah, lies a little town called Three Corners. At first
only a junction on the Rio Grande Railway, from which point countless
thousands of cattle were shipped to all parts of the world, Three
Corners grew to be a flourishing place. The wooden shanties, gambling
“joints,” and dance halls gave way to brick buildings, several banks,
a school, and other signs of progress, as respectable settlers moved
farther toward the Golden West. Of course, a part of the old town
remained, and with it a few of the characters typical of a Western “cow
town.” Among these was a tall, raw-boned man who had drifted West in
the ‘eighties, settling at Three Corners and opening a gambling-house.
His name was “Jim” Cutler. He was a man of very few words, but with
one great failing--he would shoot first and argue afterwards. Yet this
gambler, who was known and feared far and wide as a “gun-fighter,”
was at heart the mildest of men, beloved by all the children in the
town, to whom he gave coppers galore. Furthermore, Cutler would put up
with all manner of insult from a man under the influence of liquor,
or from “Tenderfeet” who did not know their danger. Cutler’s shooting
propensities were directed solely toward avowed “bad men” or those who
delighted in being known as bullies. In the course of his altercations
with such characters this tall, raw-boned man--who could, and did,
“pull his gun” like a streak of lightning--added to the population of
the local cemetery with a score of six.
Among the new-comers to Three Corners during the rehabilitation of that
town was a Hebrew named Moses Goldman. This man, a good-looking fellow
of some twenty-eight years, hailed from New York. He opened a shop,
and, with the business ability of his race, soon succeeded in making
it the principal draper’s establishment of the place. Before long,
however, reports began to circulate that the handsome young Hebrew was
not quite so respectful in demeanour towards his lady customers as he
should have been, and, although highly popular with a certain element,
the major portion of Three Corners’ female population gave Goldman’s
shop a wide berth.
One Monday morning Jim Cutler, who had been up all night looking after
the “game” in his establishment, was just leaving the place when a
young woman, whom he recognised as the schoolmistress, ran up to
him and said: “Oh, Mr. Cutler, would you mind walking as far as the
school-house with me?”
Cutler, somewhat astonished, did so, and was gratefully thanked for
his trouble. After leaving her he walked slowly back to his rooms,
wondering why he of all men should have been chosen to escort the
pretty “school ma’am.”
Some days afterwards Cutler, who passed the school on his way to and
from the Gem Saloon (his place), saw the mistress deliberately cross
the street just before reaching Goldman’s shop, and continue on her
way on the other side. He also saw Goldman come to the door and try
to attract the girl’s attention. When he reached Goldman, the latter;
twirling his moustache, remarked, laughingly, “Shy girl, that, eh?”
Cutler looked at the Hebrew for a moment, and then answered quietly, as
he moved away, “She ain’t your kind.”
Three weeks after this little episode there was a ball at the City
Hotel, and, naturally, almost the entire youth and beauty of Three
Corners “turned out.” The City Hotel was just opposite Cutler’s saloon,
and at about one o’clock the gambler was sitting in a chair outside his
place, listening to the music, when the schoolmistress and her mother
left the hotel on their way home. A moment later a man also quitted the
building and followed them. Presently he stopped the two ladies and
attempted to converse with them. The younger of the women apparently
expostulated with him, and then the two went on, leaving him standing
at the corner. Cutler recognised the solitary figure as that of
Goldman, the draper, and drew his own conclusions. Next morning Cutler
made it his business to leave the Gem Saloon just as the schoolmistress
was passing, and strode up to her.
“Miss Thurloe,” he said, “you were stopped last night on your way home.
Can I be of any assistance to you? I know you have only your mother to
protect you.”
The girl gave him a grateful look, and explained that Goldman had
repeatedly forced his attentions on her. She had done her best to send
him about his business, but he continually annoyed her, even going
so far as to enter the school-house, interrupting lessons and making
himself generally obnoxious.
Cutler smiled grimly during the girl’s hesitating recital, saw her
safely to her destination, and then went home for a sleep. At three
o’clock that afternoon he walked leisurely towards the school-house,
stopped at the fence just by the rear door, and chatted with the boys,
it being the recess hour. Suddenly, approaching from the opposite
direction, he beheld Goldman, who walked straight into the school-house
without having seen the gambler. The latter waited for a few moments,
then he also entered the building. Reaching the schoolroom, at the end
of a short hall, he found the door locked, and promptly threw himself
against it with all his strength. The door gave way with a crash and
Cutler leapt in, to see the schoolmistress struggling in the arms of
Goldman. She was fighting like a tigress, but the Jew’s hand, held
tightly over her mouth, prevented her crying out. Directly Goldman
beheld the saloon-keeper he released his prisoner, who sank back
panting upon a chair, and glared savagely at the new-comer. Cutler,
ignoring him entirely, walked slowly toward the agitated schoolmistress
and stood still, waiting for her to speak.
Goldman, however, was the first to do so. “Oh, no wonder I’ve no
chance,” he burst out, viciously; “Cutler’s as lucky in love as he
usually is at cards.”
Cutler flushed at the gibe, but he said not a word, waiting for the
girl to speak. Presently, having in a measure recovered herself, she
rose and approached the gambler. “Mr. Cutler,” she said, unsteadily,
“this man has insulted me repeatedly. Just now he tried to kiss me by
force, and I’m afraid I shall have to give up my position here and
leave Three Corners.”
In a very gentle voice Cutler asked the girl to leave the room for a
few minutes. After she had gone he turned toward Goldman, who stood
looking at him defiantly, his arms folded across his chest.
“If you were a man,” he said, sternly, “I’d drop you where you stand,
but I’m going to teach you a lesson that’ll do you a heap of good.”
Then, with a sudden bound, he grasped Goldman by the throat, threw him
across a desk, and, with a three-foot ruler, administered a thrashing
such as might be given to a recalcitrant schoolboy, only with somewhat
greater severity. The punishment over, Cutler picked the man up and,
dragging him across the floor, threw him bodily out of the building.
Now Goldman was himself a powerful man, but Cutler’s action had been so
swift and decisive that the Hebrew had practically no chance to offer
resistance. Once freed from the gambler’s hold, however, he turned
and flew at his adversary with clenched fists, snarling furiously.
Cutler stood quite still, and just as the Hebrew came within the proper
distance his right fist shot out straight from the shoulder. It landed
square on Goldman’s jaw, and he dropped like a log.
Several of the school-children, attracted by the noise, now crowded
round, vastly excited. Cutler, having informed Miss Thurloe that he
believed she would not be further annoyed, but that he would keep an
eye on “that fool masher,” walked slowly toward the town, leaving the
vanquished draper lying where he had fallen.
It has been necessary to explain all this in order that readers of THE
WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE unfamiliar with the ways of the Far West may better
understand what follows. I have said that the better element had in a
manner of speaking driven the original settlers at Three Corners to
new fields. These new-comers looked upon Cutler as an “undesirable.”
His reputation as a “man-killer” did not appeal to the emigrants from
the cultured Eastern States, who would gladly have seen him pack up
and leave the town. Goldman was quite aware of this, so, directly he
recovered himself, he asked for and obtained a warrant for Cutler’s
arrest on a charge of assault. The gambler was arraigned before the
local magistrate, where he steadfastly refused to give any reason for
the chastisement he had inflicted upon Goldman. The latter immediately
realized the advantage of Cutler’s chivalrous reluctance to drag
a woman’s name into the affair, and so swore that the assault was
entirely unprovoked and committed out of “pure devilry” on Cutler’s
part. Cutler was fined fifty dollars and severely admonished by the
Court. Everyone wondered why this acknowledged “bad man” did not
promptly wreak vengeance on the Hebrew. The gambler, however, desiring
to protect the name of the school-teacher, said not a word, but paid
the fine and went about his business as though nothing had happened.
[Illustration: “HE ADMINISTERED A THRASHING SUCH AS MIGHT BE GIVEN TO A
RECALCITRANT SCHOOLBOY.”]
Some ten days passed, when, one moonlight evening, Cutler came driving
down the road leading into Three Corners, behind a fast-trotting
horse. Just as he reached the end of a long field of corn a report
rang out and his horse dropped, riddled with shot. Cutler jumped from
his buggy, whipped out his revolver, and made for the corn-field, from
which the shot had evidently come. He made a thorough search, but
the tall corn-stalks afforded a secure hiding-place to the would-be
assassin--for Cutler had no doubt whatever that the shot had been meant
for him. Reluctantly giving up his quest, he walked back to his saloon
and sent several men to remove the dead horse and bring in his buggy.
The next morning he again made his way to the corn-field, and there,
just by the fence, he found five discarded cigarette ends of a very
expensive Egyptian brand which he knew to be smoked by only one man
in Three Corners--Goldman, the draper. Evidently the man had lain in
wait for a long time. Cutler next climbed over the fence, and was about
to return when he saw lying in the path a piece of cloth torn from a
jacket, and on it a button. It looked as though the would-be murderer,
in jumping the fence, had caught his coat on the barbed wire; at any
rate, he had left a damning piece of evidence behind him. With the
cigarette ends and the fragment of cloth in his pocket, Cutler walked
leisurely up the road into the town and made direct for the shop of
Moses Goldman.
The draper was standing on a step-ladder arranging some goods on the
shelves. When the door opened, ringing a small bell, he turned, and
seeing Cutler jumped down from the ladder. The gambler looked the man
straight in the eye. “You miserable cur!” he cried, angrily. “You’d
shoot a man in the dark, would you?”
Goldman, realizing that Cutler had satisfied himself as to the identity
of his assailant, made as if to draw a revolver. That was the last
movement he ever made, for the next instant he dropped dead, shot clean
through the heart.
The gambler waited for a moment to see if the report of the pistol had
attracted any attention; then, as no one appeared, he quietly left
the shop, went over to his saloon, placed two revolvers in his belt,
and filled his pockets with ammunition. Then, taking up a Winchester
repeating-rifle, he went to the stable, saddled his horse, and after a
few words with his bartender rode out of Three Corners in a westerly
direction.
It was not long after his departure before the entire town was in
an uproar. Moses Goldman, the energetic draper, had been found
shot--killed in his own shop by Jim Cutler. The latter had been seen
entering Goldman’s establishment by several persons, and the shot
had been heard by people living above the store, who afterwards saw
Cutler leaving. Sheriff Benson, accompanied by two deputies, promptly
called at the Gem Saloon, but the officer was a trifle late, for Cutler
was by that time some miles distant. Lest it should be thought that
Cutler had made his escape through cowardice it may be best to explain
at once, perhaps, that this was not the case. The man realized that
should he be apprehended the name of Miss Thurloe must necessarily
figure prominently in the matter. Strange as it may seem, this six-foot
gambler, knowing no better, believed that by “making himself scarce” he
was protecting that lady’s good name. This was a mistake, undoubtedly,
but the fact remains that he made it.
It happened that Rufe Benson, Sheriff of Beulah County, was a sworn
enemy of Cutler’s, for the latter some years before had taken the law
into his own hands and at the point of his gun liberated a prisoner
whom he believed to be innocent, and who was eventually proved to be
so. Benson now formed a posse of some twenty armed men, and there began
a man-hunt which lasted, so far as this particular posse was concerned,
for a fortnight. They were then reinforced by a body of “Rangers,”
some fifty strong, who in turn found it necessary to call to their
assistance a body of militia. All these officers were ably assisted by
the citizens and residents of Beulah County, altogether some thousand
strong, and yet Jim Cutler proved more than their match. Benson’s men
trailed the fugitive to Kerry’s ranch, some six miles out; from here
he had gone north-west toward the Rio Grande. He was mounted on a
thoroughbred--as were all the men, for that matter--but six miles was
a long start in a case like this, and should the hunted man once reach
the mountains--well, there might be some trouble in getting at him.
The telegraph was put into operation, and a circle some ten miles in
circumference drawn around Cutler. When this cordon closed in, however,
they failed to find the gambler amongst them, but they _did_ find two
self-appointed “man-hunters” lying where they had fallen to the deadly
aim of Jim Cutler’s repeating-rifle.
From every town for miles around amateur detectives joined the hunt,
but no trace could be found of Cutler beyond the Moulin River, a tiny
stream only some twenty feet wide, so the rivulet was dammed and the
water drained off for miles, so as to discover, if possible, whether
Cutler had ridden up or down stream. While one party of men were doing
this, others rode in all directions, searched the ranches, and notified
every town by telegraph to keep a look-out for the slayer of Moses
Goldman. More and more people joined in the hunt, but for some days,
in the slang of the West, “there was nothing doing.” Then, early one
morning, two horsemen came galloping towards Benson’s camp, and one of
the men, dismounting, delivered a message to the effect that Cutler had
been seen at McPherson’s ranch, some eleven miles north-west, where
he had informed Mr. McPherson that he had not the slightest intention
of taking further life unless driven to it, and that, if Benson would
call in all his men, he (Cutler) would promise to give himself up in a
fortnight’s time. (It was afterwards learned that he intended in the
interval to communicate with Miss Thurloe and arrange a story, leaving
her name entirely out of the matter.) Benson, however, was on his
mettle, and so refused to parley with his quarry.
“If Jim Cutler thinks he can defy the law and officers of this county,
he is mightily mistaken,” he said, “and we’re going to take him, dead
or alive.” This ultimatum duly reached Cutler through “non-combatant”
friends, whereupon he smiled grimly. Being now outlawed, it was
impossible for Cutler’s friends to assist him without making themselves
amenable to the law, so the hunted man demanded and secured everything
he required at the point of the pistol.
Within fourteen days thereafter nine men who had attempted to interfere
with the escaping gambler paid for their foolhardiness with their
lives, and all the time, little by little, Cutler was getting closer
to the mountains, whose shelter meant so much to him. Sometimes hidden
for hours in a haystack, or lying flat under the rafters of a barn
loft, the fugitive moved on his way. The main body of pursuers often
got within gun-shot of him, but luck favoured the man, and he always
managed to find cover just in time. Finally, completely worn out--he
had ridden two horses to death and abandoned others commandeered for
the time being--Cutler reached the foot of the scrub hills or little
range which lay between him and his goal. Here, for the first time, he
came in contact with a number of the “man-hunters.” “Lon” Masters--a
noted character in Montana, and himself a dead shot--accompanied by
eight cowboys, suddenly appeared over a rise in the ground. Cutler, on
foot, saw them coming. He dropped on one knee and his rifle flew to his
shoulder. The horsemen drew rein, and Masters, making a trumpet of his
hands, shouted, “Don’t be a fool, Jim; you’re sure to be caught sooner
or later. Let me take you, and I’ll promise no harm shall come to you.
You know my word.”
[Illustration: TABLE ROCK, CUTLER’S STRONGHOLD IN BEULAH COUNTY. _From
a Photograph._]
“Can’t do it, Lon,” Cutler shouted back. “If they give me ten days
without interference I’ll give myself up--you know _my_ word.”
“Jim,” responded Masters, “if you don’t drop your gun we shall have to
fire.”
“Crack! crack! crack!” came the answer from Cutler’s gun, Masters and
two others of the party being hit. The remainder now urged their horses
forward, but, as first one and then another rider was “winged” by the
desperate man in front of them, the remainder decided that they had
urgent business elsewhere, and rode back for reinforcements.
At last, after a weary night’s climb, Cutler reached the place he had
been making for. He had not slept more than an hour or two for days,
and so, secure for a time at least--for no one could climb these hills
quicker than he had done--the worn-out man dropped in a heap. Cutler’s
hiding place was a barren ledge, some fifty yards in extent, the only
approach thereto being the bridle-path by which he had come. Two, or
at most three, at a time was the only formation in which his pursuers
could get anywhere near him, and with Cutler’s knowledge of the use
of firearms this was a ticklish undertaking, to say the least of it.
Moreover, he could see anyone approaching along the valley for a great
distance. There was plenty of water a little distance down the path,
Cutler had sufficient food with him to last for a week, and he felt he
could “make a get-away” during this time.
The erstwhile gambler awoke when the sun was high in the heavens; he
felt lame and sore all over. Walking towards the edge of the ledge he
saw, away in the distance, a large party of horsemen spread out over
a great area. Cutler went down the path, bathed his face and arms in
the cool spring water, and took a long drink; then, returning above,
he sat down and leisurely ate from his store of dried beef, biscuits,
and corn bread. At midday the approaching horsemen were in full view,
and Cutler saw that they had come with prairie wagons, containing camp
paraphernalia, evidently prepared for a siege, for they knew as well as
he did himself of the hiding-place where he had taken refuge. Soon the
riders came to a halt and Cutler laughed as he saw others coming from
all directions, evidently anxious to be “in at the death.” It looked
rather a big camp to the solitary figure high in the air, but numbers
meant nothing, only--well, his ammunition would give out sooner or
later. Then, of course, would come capture--but he wouldn’t look that
far ahead.
During the afternoon several men approached, one of them displaying a
white handkerchief, which he waved to and fro. When the men reached
the bottom of the hill they dismounted and one made his way slowly up,
shouting now and again, “It’s me, Jim--Joe Ludlow.” Cutler made his
way down the path and, suddenly coming upon Ludlow, ordered him to
throw up his hands. The man did so, saying, “Jim, you and I have been
friends for fifteen years; believe me, I’m unarmed; I want to talk to
you--trust me.” Thereupon Cutler lowered his rifle, and the two men
shook hands. Then followed a long confab, during which Ludlow did his
utmost to get Cutler to surrender. He said Sheriff Benson was prepared
to starve Cutler out, or get him at all costs. It would only mean loss
of life and must eventually result in the fugitive’s capture. Ludlow
said that he, with half-a-dozen “pals,” would assure Cutler a safe
return to Three Corners, sending Benson and all the rest on ahead. Then
Cutler could stand his trial, and, with a good lawyer from Butte to
defend him, would no doubt stand a chance of some sort.
Cutler listened patiently; then he shook his head.
“I know what’s coming to me, Joe,” he said; “they have been after me
for years in a quiet way. Now they want my life, but they sha’n’t have
it--at least not until I’ve paved the way with a few of them.”
Ludlow was a very decent sort of fellow, and he tried his utmost to
convince Cutler that his argument was a good one. Cutler then took
the man into his confidence, and, Ludlow promising not to say a word
to those below, he was told the whole story--told of Miss Thurloe’s
complaints, the episode at the school-house, the shooting of Cutler’s
horse, and everything.
“Well, I’m jiggered!” cried Ludlow, when the tale was finished. “Why
didn’t you let us know this in the first place?” He then informed
the gambler that he would ride back to Three Corners and explain the
situation to the schoolmistress. She had only to tell her story to the
judge, he said, and it was a certainty he would interfere in some way.
Cutler demurred, but Ludlow bluntly told him to “go to h----; he wasn’t
going to see a good man hounded to death.” With that, turning on his
heel, he left without another word.
Going back to the camp, Ludlow informed Sheriff Benson that under no
circumstances ought he to attempt to take Cutler, and asked him to
await his return from Three Corners. Benson replied, “I want none of
your conversation, Ludlow; Cutler is a downright murderer, and I mean
to have him.”
Ludlow, disdaining further argument, rode off at full speed toward the
little town where all the trouble had occurred.
Not knowing just what card Ludlow had up his sleeve, the sheriff
decided to make quick work of Cutler’s capture. He therefore sent a
party of deputies to Malvern, the nearest telegraph station, and in
the name of the law asked the county militia to send him some men with
a mountain gun, the property of private individuals who practised
soldiering as a pastime. Each State in America, it may be said in
passing, possesses several such regiments, which are available in
war-time, although in no way a part of the Government organization, and
having no connection with the State militia. It would have been useless
to attempt to dislodge Cutler as matters stood, but Benson believed
that a few shots from a cannon might have the desired effect. When his
message was received at Malvern it created a sensation. Business was
for the nonce neglected and everybody--men, women, and children--made
their way toward the sheriffs camp at Table Hill.
Several attempts were made to parley with Cutler, without success, and
so three days went by. On the afternoon of the fourth day the refugee
on the rock was thunderstruck to see a body of soldiers approaching
from the south, with a field gun hauled by four horses. He did not
know whether to laugh or to regard this seriously. Surely the officers
of the law would not resort to bombarding him with a cannon? Soon the
soldiers reached the camp, and about an hour later Cutler saw that the
gun, a howitzer, was being trained on the hill where he lay enjoying a
smoke. There was no chance of his getting away other than by the path
by which he had come. Behind him there was a sheer drop of hundreds of
feet into the gully far below. True, he could descend some distance
down the mountain-side, but if the besiegers really meant business this
would not help him much. Nothing was done that day, but Cutler kept
vigilant watch all through the night. He had regularly built a huge
fire some way down the mountain-side, which was protected by trees to
some extent, but lit up the path for a considerable distance.
[Illustration: “IF YOU SO MUCH AS WINK YOUR EYE I’LL PUT A HOLE IN
YOU.”]
The next morning a party numbering a dozen came toward the hill again
bearing a white flag. They stopped some distance off, one man only
continuing--Benson, the Sheriff of Beulah County, himself. Cutler
allowed him to approach much nearer than had Ludlow; then he covered
the advancing sheriff with his rifle.
“Cutler, if we haven’t rushed this place,” said Benson, “it is only
because I did not want to sacrifice human lives, knowing full well that
sooner or later you must give up. I know you are on the square, so I’ve
come up unarmed, being sure you wouldn’t take advantage of the white
flag. I’m only doing my duty. I give you this chance to come back with
me, otherwise I’m afraid they’ll blow this place up and you with it.”
“Regular war, isn’t it?” replied Cutler, smilingly.
“Looks like it,” admitted the sheriff.
“Well, seeing you are trying that game, I’ll just do a little in the
war line myself,” said Cutler. “You walk up this path towards me, and
if you so much as wink your eye I’ll put a hole in you that a tramcar
could go through!”
The sheriff could hardly believe his ears. “Don’t be a fool, Cutler,”
he said, angrily.
“Never mind about my being a fool; you do as you’re told or I’ll drop
you quick.”
Benson evidently had no doubts about the matter, for, though beside
himself with rage, he promptly did as Cutler ordered. The sheriff
was forced to walk ahead, and no doubt, had his captor been almost
any other man than Jim Cutler, there would have been one big fight
on Table Hill, gun or no gun, but Benson knew that Cutler would do
just as he said he would. Arrived at the top, Benson was forced to
write a note saying that he was a captive, and that perhaps it would
be just as well not to fire the cannon in the direction it was now
trained. Furthermore, one man was to approach the hill with food,
whisky, and tobacco. The note was then secured to a large stone by the
aid of Sheriff Benson’s braces, and while Cutler “stood by” Benson
was ordered to throw this stone toward the deputy in charge of the
waiting horsemen below. This man, or one of those with him, picked up
the stone, and read the message to the others. There was a great laugh
below--plainly heard by the two men on the ledge--and, needless to
say, the merriment of his assistants did not add to Benson’s peace of
mind. Cutler now laid his rifle down, first having drawn a six-shooter.
Then, approaching Benson, he searched him for concealed firearms, but
the sheriff was unarmed. The latter was now told to sit down and make
himself comfortable at the opening which led to the path, Cutler being
thereby able to watch both his prisoner and the approach from below.
Soon a solitary figure came from the camp, carrying the food “ordered.”
It was brought as near as Cutler permitted it to be, and then Benson,
under cover of the rifle, was sent to fetch it. It looked for a moment
as though there might be a fight after all, but Cutler’s business-like
demeanour soon caused his prisoner to change his mind.
With the food there was a note, reading, “Are we to wait for you or
not?” This did not appeal to the sheriff’s sense of humour, and he tore
the paper into shreds.
Just at sundown a large cloud of dust was noticed in the distance,
which soon turned out to be a number of mounted men with a wagon, or
“prairie schooner.” The new-comers were presently merged with those in
camp, and not long afterwards two men, escorting a woman, rode slowly
toward Table Hill. Again the white flag was raised, and a voice shouted
from below, “Hi, Jim, it’s me--Ludlow.”
Cutler permitted his friend to approach, and when he gained the ledge
Ludlow had a hard struggle to restrain his laughter at the unfortunate
sheriff’s predicament.
“I’ve brought some news for you, Jim,” said Ludlow. “That school-ma’am
is a brick, and no mistake. When I told her how things stood, she came
right to the front, and not only saw Judge Nolan, but drove twenty
miles to see Governor Hill, and here’s the result.”
Ludlow then handed Sheriff Benson an official communication paroling
Cutler in his own recognizances pending investigation of Miss Thurloe’s
story. Western men are nothing if not intensely chivalrous, and, if
this girl’s story was correct, Cutler, in their estimation, deserved,
not death, but a medal.
The amazed sheriff scratched his head and Cutler seemed undecided, but
Ludlow grasped his hand eagerly. “Come on, old fellow, down to the
sea-level,” he cried. This broke the tension, and all three men smiled.
“There is nothing for me to do but obey this, Cutler,” said the
sheriff, slowly; “but I’ll tell you straight I don’t feel like doing
it.”
Ludlow turned to Benson and informed him that Judge Nolan had made
him a Court officer, the tenure of his office being thirty days, and
that he would brook no interference from Benson or anyone else. That
settled it. The trio walked down the path, where Miss Thurloe, with
tears in her eyes, thanked Cutler for his brave and manly action on her
behalf. She said that she had reason to believe he would be acquitted,
and that, as no warrant had been issued for his arrest until after he
had shot the men who had attempted to stop him, it must be a case of
self-defence.
Cutler was received with cheers by the crowd in camp--the same men
who were thirsting for his blood an hour before--and soon everybody
was seeking the nearest way home, and the scene of action was
shortly deserted. It is not possible to chronicle that Jim Cutler
was triumphantly acquitted at his trial. His character went strongly
against him--that is to say, the fact that he had previously figured in
“shooting scrapes”--but, nevertheless, his sentence was a comparatively
light one. The State’s attorney (analogous to counsel for the Crown)
laid great stress on the fact of Cutler’s having visited Goldman’s
shop, obviously seeking trouble, when he should have reported the
attempt on his life to the authorities. He was sentenced to five years
in the State prison, but was pardoned at the expiration of eleven
months. He is now living in Butte, the capital of the State of Montana,
where he has opened a saloon. Miss Thurloe left Three Corners, and is
believed to be teaching in Pittsburg, U.S.A.
The local newspapers poked much fun at the soldiers who took their
cannon miles out to bombard what they jocularly called “a one-man
army”; but all the same they meant business, and had matters not ended
as they did there would have been a change in the landscape just there,
for the top of Table Hill would in all probability have been blown to
pieces, and Jim Cutler with it.
[Illustration]
Photographing a Volcano in Eruption.