THE RULE OF THE LAWLESS
No concerted attempt was made by the roughs to avenge the execution of
their comrades. Whether they realized that such an attempt would be
likely to solidify the decent element, or whether that sort of warfare
was not their habit, the afternoon and night wore away without trouble.
"Danger's over," announced Johnny the following morning.
"What next?" I asked.
"We'll go up to town," said Johnny.
This they proceeded to do, negativing absolutely my desire to accompany
them.
"You stay out of this," said Johnny. "Go and wash gold as usual."
I was immensely relieved that afternoon when they returned safe and
sound. Afterward I heard that they had coolly visited every saloon and
gambling place, had stopped in each to chat with the barkeepers and
gamblers, had spent the morning seated outside the Bella Union, and had
been in no manner molested.
"They'll be all right as long as they stick together and keep in the
open," Yank assured me. "That gang will sooner assassinate than fight."
Although for the moment held in check by the resolute front presented by
these three boys, the rough element showed that it considered it had won
a great victory, and was now entitled to run the town. Members of the
gang selected what goods they needed at any of the stores, making no
pretence of payment. They swaggered boldly about the streets at all
times, infested the better places such as the Bella Union, elbowed aside
insolently any inoffensive citizen who might be in their way, and
generally conducted themselves as though they owned the place. Robberies
grew more frequent. The freighters were held up in broad daylight;
rumours of returning miners being relieved of their dust drifted up from
the lower country; mysterious disappearances increased in number. Hardly
an attempt was made to conceal the fact that the organized gang that
conducted these operations had its headquarters at Italian Bar. Strange
men rode up in broad daylight, covered with red dust, to confer with
Morton or one of the other resident blackguards. Mysteriously every
desperado in the place began to lay fifty-dollar octagonal slugs on the
gaming tables, product of some lower country atrocity.
The camp soon had a concrete illustration of the opinion the roughs held
of themselves. It was reported quietly among a few of us that several of
our number had been "marked" by the desperadoes. Two of these were Joe
Thompson, who had acted as counsel for the prosecution in the late
trial, and Tom Cleveland, who had presided, and presided well, over the
court. Thompson kept one of the stores, while Cleveland was proprietor
of the butcher shop. No overt threats were made, but we understood that
somehow these men were to be put out of the way. Of course they were at
once warned.
The human mind is certainly a queer piece of mechanism. It would seem
that the most natural thing to have done, in the circumstances, would
have been to dog these men's footsteps until an opportunity offered to
assassinate them quietly. That is just what would have been done had the
intended victims been less prominently in the public eye. The murder of
court officials, however, was a very different matter from the finding
of an unknown miner dead in his camp or along the trail. In the former
case there could be no manner of doubt as to the perpetrators of the
deed--the animus was too directly to be traced. And it is a matter for
curious remark that in all early history, whether of California in the
forties, or of Montana in the bloodier sixties, the desperadoes, no
matter how strong they felt themselves or how arrogantly they ran the
community, nevertheless must have felt a great uncertainty as to the
actual power of the decent element. This is evidenced by the fact that
they never worked openly. Though the identity of each of them as a
robber and cut-throat was a matter of common knowledge, so that any
miner could have made out a list of the members of any band, the fact
was never formally admitted. And as long as it was not admitted, and as
long as actual hard proof was lacking, it seemed to be part of the game
that nothing could be done. Moral certainties did not count until some
series of outrages resulted in mob action.
Now consider this situation, which seemed to me then as it seems to me
now, most absurd in every way. Nobody else considered it so. Everybody
knew that the rough element was out to "get" Thompson and Cleveland.
Everybody, including both Thompson and Cleveland themselves, was pretty
certain that they would not be quietly assassinated, the argument in
that case being that the deed would be too apt to raise the community.
Therefore it was pretty well understood that some sort of a quarrel or
personal encounter would be used as an excuse. Personally I could not
see that that would make much essential difference; but, as I said, the
human mind is a curious piece of mechanism.
Among the occasional visitors to the camp was a man who called himself
Harry Crawford. He was a man of perhaps twenty-five years, tall, rather
slender, with a clear face and laughing blue eyes. Nothing in his
appearance indicated the desperado; and yet we had long known him as one
of the Morton gang. This man now took up his residence in camp; and we
soon discovered that he was evidently the killer. The first afternoon he
picked some sort of a petty quarrel with Thompson over a purchase, but
cooled down instantly when unexpectedly confronted by a half dozen
miners who came in at the opportune moment. A few days afterward in the
slack time of the afternoon Thompson, while drinking at the bar of the
Empire and conversing with a friend, was approached by a well-known
sodden hanger-on of the saloons.
"What 'n hell you fellows talking about?" demanded this man impudently.
"None of your business," replied Thompson impatiently, for the man was a
public nuisance, and besides was deep in Thompson's debt.
The man broke into foul oaths.
"I'll dare you to fight!" he cried in a furious passion.
Facing about, Thompson saw Crawford standing attentively among the
listeners, and instantly comprehended the situation.
"You have the odds of me with a pistol," said Thompson, who notoriously
had no skill with that weapon. "Why should I fight you?"
"Well, then," cried the man, "put up your fists; that'll show who is the
best man!"
He snatched off his belt and laid it on the bar. Thompson did the same.
"Come on!" cried the challenger, backing away.
Thompson, thoroughly angry, reached over and slapped his antagonist. The
latter promptly drew another revolver from beneath his coat, but before
he could aim it Thompson jumped at his throat and disarmed him. At this
moment Crawford interfered, apparently as peacemaker. Thompson was later
told secretly by the barkeeper that the scheme was to lure him into a
pistol fight in the street, when Crawford would be ready to shoot him as
soon as the first shot was fired.
On the strength of his interference Crawford next pretended to
friendship, and spent much of his time at Thompson's store. Thompson was
in no way deceived. This state of affairs continued for two days. It
terminated in the following manner: Crawford, sitting half on the
counter, and talking with all the great charm of which he was master,
led the subject to weapons.
"This revolver of mine," said he, at the same time drawing the weapon
from its holster, "is one of the old navy model. You don't often see
them nowadays. It has a double lock." He cocked it as though to
illustrate his point, and the muzzle, as though by accident, swept
toward the other man. He looked up from his affected close examination
to find that Thompson had also drawn his weapon and that the barrel was
pointing uncompromisingly in his direction.
For a moment the two stared each other in the eye. Then Crawford
sheathed his pistol with an oath.
"What do you mean by that?" he cried.
"I mean," said Thompson firmly, "that I do not intend you shall get the
advantage of me. You know my opinion of you and your gang. I shall not
be shot by any of you, if I can help it."
Crawford withdrew quietly, but later in the day approached a big group
of us, one of which was Thompson.
"There's a matter between you and me has got to be settled!" he cried.
"Well, I can't imagine what it is," replied Thompson. "I'm not aware
that I've said or done anything to you that needs settlement."
"You needn't laugh!" replied Crawford, with a string of insulting oaths.
"You're a coward; and if you're anything of a man you will step out of
doors and have this out."
"I am, as you say, a coward," replied Thompson quietly, "and I see no
reason for going out of doors to fight you or anybody else."
After blustering and swearing for a few moments Crawford withdrew. He
made no attempt to fight, nor do I believe his outburst had any other
purpose than to establish the purely personal character of the quarrel
between Thompson and himself. At any rate, Thompson was next morning
found murdered in his bunk, while Crawford had disappeared. I do not
know whether Crawford had killed him or not; I think not.
About this time formal printed notices of some sort of election were
posted on the bulletin board at Morton's place. At least they were said
to have been posted, and were pointed out to all comers the day after
election. Perhaps they were there all the time, as claimed, but nobody
paid much attention to them. At any rate, we one day awoke to the fact
that we were a full-fledged community, with regularly constituted court
officers, duly qualified officials, and a sheriff. The sheriff was
Morton, and the most worthy judges were other members of his gang!
This move tickled Danny Randall's sense of humour immensely.
"That's good head work," he said approvingly. "I didn't think Morton had
it in him."
"It's time something was done to run that gang out of town," fumed Dr.
Rankin.
"No; it is not time," denied Danny, "any more than it was time when you
and Johnny and the rest of you had your celebrated jury trial."
"I'd like to know what you are driving at!" fretted the worthy doctor.
Danny Randall laughed in his gentle little fashion. I will confess that
just at that time I was very decidedly wondering what Danny Randall was
at. In fact, at moments I was strongly inclined to doubt his
affiliations. He seemed to stand in an absolutely neutral position,
inclining to neither side.
Tom Cleveland was killed in the open street by one of the Empire
hangers-on. The man was promptly arrested by Morton in his capacity of
sheriff, and confined in chains. Morton, as sheriff, selected those who
were to serve on the jury. I had the curiosity to attend the trial,
expecting to assist at an uproarious farce. All the proceedings, on the
contrary, were conducted with the greatest decorum, and with minute
attention to legal formalities. The assassin, however, was acquitted.
From that time the outrages increased in number and in boldness. No man
known to be possessed of any quantity of gold was safe. It was dangerous
to walk alone after dark, to hunt alone in the mountains, to live alone.
Every man carried his treasure about with him everywhere he went. No man
dared raise his voice in criticism of the ruling powers, for it was
pretty generally understood that such criticism meant death.
It would be supposed, naturally, by you in our modern and civilized
days, that such a condition of affairs would cast a fear and gloom over
the life of the community. Not at all. Men worked and played and gambled
and drank and joked and carried on the light-hearted, jolly existence of
the camps just about the same as ever. Outside a few principals like
Morton and his immediate satellites, there was no accurate demarkation
between the desperadoes and the miners. Indeed, no one was ever quite
sure of where his next neighbour's sympathies lay. We all mingled
together, joked, had a good time--and were exceedingly cautious. It was
a polite community. Personal quarrels were the product of the moment,
and generally settled at the moment or soon after. Enmities were matters
for individual adjustment.
Randall's express messengers continued to make their irregular trips
with the gold dust. They were never attacked, though they were
convinced, and I think justly, that on numerous occasions they had only
just escaped attack. Certainly the sums of money they carried were more
than sufficient temptation to the bandits. They knew their country,
however, and were full of Indian-like ruses, twists, doublings and turns
which they employed with great gusto. How long they would have succeeded
in eluding what I considered the inevitable, I do not know; but at this
time occurred the events that I shall detail in the next chapter.