Slade was about to take it when he saw that my cup was empty. He
politely offered to fill it, but although I wanted it, I politely
declined. I was afraid he had not killed anybody that morning,
and might be needing diversion. But still with firm politeness he
insisted on filling my cup, and said I had traveled all night and
better deserved it than he--and while he talked he placidly poured
the fluid, to the last drop. I thanked him and drank it, but it gave
me no comfort, for I could not feel sure that he would not be sorry,
presently, that he had given it away, and proceed to kill me to
distract his thoughts from the loss. But nothing of the kind occurred.
We left him with only twenty-six dead people to account for, and I felt
a tranquil satisfaction in the thought that in so judiciously taking
care of No. 1 at that breakfast-table I had pleasantly escaped being
No. 27. Slade came out to the coach and saw us off, first ordering
certain rearrangements of the mail-bags for our comfort, and then we
took leave of him, satisfied that we should hear of him again, some
day, and wondering in what connection.
* * * * *
And sure enough, two or three years afterward, we did hear of him
again. News came to the Pacific coast that the Vigilance Committee in
Montana (whither Slade had removed from Rocky Ridge) had hanged him.
I find an account of the affair in the thrilling little book from
which I have already quoted a paragraph--“The Vigilantes of Montana;
being a Reliable Account of the Capture, Trial and Execution of Henry
Plummer’s Notorious Road Agent Band: By Prof. Thos. J. Dimsdale,
Virginia City, N. T.” Mr. Dimsdale’s chapter is well worth reading, as
a specimen of how the people of the frontier deal with criminals when
the courts of law prove inefficient. Mr. Dimsdale makes two remarks
about Slade, both of which are accurately descriptive, and one of which
is exceedingly picturesque: “Those who saw him in his natural state
only, would pronounce him to be a kind husband, a most hospitable host,
and a courteous gentleman; on the contrary, those who met him when
maddened with liquor and surrounded by a gang of armed roughs, would
pronounce him a fiend incarnate.” And this: “From Fort Kearney, west,
he was feared _a great deal more than the Almighty_.” For compactness,
simplicity, and vigor of expression, I will “back” that sentence
against anything in literature. Mr. Dimsdale’s narrative is as follows.
In all places where italics occur they are mine:
After the execution of the five men on the 14th of January, the
Vigilantes considered that their work was nearly ended. They had
freed the country of highwaymen and murderers to a great extent, and
they determined that in the absence of the regular civil authority
they would establish a People’s Court where all offenders should be
tried by judge and jury. This was the nearest approach to social
order that the circumstances permitted, and, though strict legal
authority was wanting, yet the people were firmly determined to
maintain its efficiency, and to enforce its decrees. It may here be
mentioned that the overt act which was the last round on the fatal
ladder leading to the scaffold on which Slade perished, _was the
tearing in pieces and stamping upon a writ of this court, followed
by his arrest of the Judge, Alex. Davis, by authority of a presented
Derringer, and with his own hands_.
J. A. Slade was himself, we have been informed, a Vigilante; he
openly boasted of it, and said he knew all that they knew. He was
never accused, or even suspected, of either murder or robbery,
committed in this Territory (the latter crime was never laid to his
charge, in any place); but that he had killed several men in other
localities was notorious, and his bad reputation in this respect
was a most powerful argument in determining his fate, when he was
finally arrested for the offense above mentioned. On returning from
Milk River he became more and more addicted to drinking, until at
last it was a common feat for him and his friends to “take the
town.” He and a couple of his dependents might often be seen on one
horse, galloping through the streets, shouting and yelling, firing
revolvers, etc. On many occasions he would ride his horse into
stores, break up bars, toss the scales out of doors, and use most
insulting language to parties present. Just previous to the day of
his arrest, he had given a fearful beating to one of his followers;
but such was his influence over them that the man wept bitterly at
the gallows, and begged for his life with all his power. _It had
become quite common, when Slade was on a spree, for the shopkeepers
and citizens to close the stores and put out all the lights_; being
fearful of some outrage at his hands. For his wanton destruction of
goods and furniture, he was always ready to pay, when sober, if he
had money; but there were not a few who regarded payment as small
satisfaction for the outrage, and these men were his personal enemies.
From time to time Slade received warnings from men that he well knew
would not deceive him, of the certain end of his conduct. There was
not a moment, for weeks previous to his arrest, in which the public
did not expect to hear of some bloody outrage. The dread of his very
name, and the presence of the armed band of hangers-on who followed
him alone prevented a resistance which must certainly have ended in
the instant murder or mutilation of the opposing party.
Slade was frequently arrested by order of the court whose
organization we have described, and had treated it with respect
by paying one or two fines and promising to pay the rest when he
had money; but in the transaction that occurred at this crisis, he
forgot even this caution, and, goaded by passion and the hatred of
restraint, he sprang into the embrace of death.
Slade had been drunk and “cutting-up” all night. He and his
companions had made the town a perfect hell. In the morning, J. M.
Fox, the sheriff, met him, arrested him, took him into court and
commenced reading a warrant that he had for his arrest, by way of
arraignment. He became uncontrollably furious, and _seizing the
writ, he tore it up, threw it on the ground and stamped upon it_.
The clicking of the locks of his companions’ revolvers was instantly
heard, and a crisis was expected. The sheriff did not attempt
his retention; but being at least as prudent as he was valiant,
he succumbed, leaving Slade the _master of the situation and the
conqueror and ruler of the courts, law, and law-makers_. This was a
declaration of war, and was so accepted. The Vigilance Committee now
felt that the question of social order and the preponderance of the
law-abiding citizens had then and there to be decided. They knew the
character of Slade, and they were well aware that they must submit to
his rule without murmur, or else that he must be dealt with in such
fashion as would prevent his being able to wreak his vengeance on
the committee, who could never have hoped to live in the Territory
secure from outrage or death, and who could never leave it without
encountering his friends, whom his victory would have emboldened
and stimulated to a pitch that would have rendered them reckless of
consequences. The day previous he had ridden into Doris’s store, and,
on being requested to leave, he drew his revolver and threatened to
kill the gentleman who spoke to him. Another saloon he had led his
horse into, and, buying a bottle of wine, he tried to make the animal
drink it. This was not considered an uncommon performance, as he had
often entered saloons and commenced firing at the lamps, causing a
wild stampede.
A leading member of the committee met Slade, and informed him in the
quiet, earnest manner of one who feels the importance of what he is
saying: “Slade, get your horse at once, and go home, or there will
be ---- to pay.” Slade started and took a long look, with his dark
and piercing eyes, at the gentleman. “What do you mean?” said he.
“You have no right to ask what I mean,” was the quiet reply, “get
your horse at once, and remember what I tell you.” After a short
pause he promised to do so, and actually got into the saddle; but,
being still intoxicated, he began calling aloud to one after another
of his friends, and at last seemed to have forgotten the warning
he had received and became again uproarious, shouting the name of
a well-known courtezan in company with those of two men whom he
considered heads of the committee, as a sort of challenge; perhaps,
however, as a simple act of bravado. It seems probable that the
intimation of personal danger he had received had not been forgotten
entirely; though, fatally for him, he took a foolish way of showing
his remembrance of it. He sought out Alexander Davis, the Judge of
the Court, and, drawing a cocked Derringer, he presented it at his
head, and told him that he should hold him as a hostage for his own
safety. As the judge stood perfectly quiet, and offered no resistance
to his captor, no further outrage followed on this score. Previous
to this, on account of the critical state of affairs, the committee
had met, and at last resolved to arrest him. His execution had not
been agreed upon, and, at that time, would have been negatived, most
assuredly. A messenger rode down to Nevada to inform the leading men
of what was on hand, as it was desirable to show that there was a
feeling of unanimity on the subject, all along the gulch.
The miners turned out almost _en masse_, leaving their work and
forming in solid column, about six hundred strong, armed to the
teeth, they marched up to Virginia. The leader of the body well knew
the temper of his men on the subject. He spurred on ahead of them,
and, hastily calling a meeting of the executive, he told them plainly
that the miners meant “business,” and that, if they came up, they
would not stand in the street to be shot down by Slade’s friends; but
that they would take him and hang him. The meeting was small, as the
Virginia men were loath to act at all. This momentous announcement of
the feeling of the Lower Town was made to a cluster of men, who were
deliberating behind a wagon, at the rear of a store on Main street.
The committee were most unwilling to proceed to extremities. All the
duty they had ever performed seemed as nothing to the task before
them; but they had to decide, and that quickly. It was finally agreed
that if the whole body of the miners were of the opinion that he
should be hanged, that the committee left it in their hands to deal
with him. Off, at hot speed, rode the leader of the Nevada men to
join his command.
Slade had found out what was intended, and the news sobered him
instantly. He went into P. S. Pfouts’ store, where Davis was, and
apologized for his conduct, saying that he would take it all back.
The head of the column now wheeled into Wallace street and marched up
at quick time. Halting in front of the store, the executive officer
of the committee stepped forward and arrested Slade, who was at once
informed of his doom, and inquiry was made as to whether he had any
business to settle. Several parties spoke to him on the subject;
but to all such inquiries he turned a deaf ear, being entirely
absorbed in the terrifying reflections on his own awful position. He
never ceased his entreaties for life, and to see his dear wife. The
unfortunate lady referred to, between whom and Slade there existed
a warm affection, was at this time living at their ranch on the
Madison. She was possessed of considerable personal attractions;
tall, well-formed, of graceful carriage, pleasing manners, and was,
withal, an accomplished horsewoman.
A messenger from Slade rode at full speed to inform her of her
husband’s arrest. In an instant she was in the saddle, and with all
the energy that love and despair could lend to an ardent temperament
and a strong physique, she urged her fleet charger over the twelve
miles of rough and rocky ground that intervened between her and the
object of her passionate devotion.
Meanwhile, a party of volunteers had made the necessary preparations
for the execution, in the valley traversed by the branch. Beneath the
site of Pfouts and Russell’s stone building there was a corral, the
gate-posts of which were strong and high. Across the top was laid
a beam, to which the rope was fastened, and a dry-goods box served
for the platform. To this place Slade was marched, surrounded by a
guard, composing the best armed and most numerous force that has ever
appeared in Montana Territory.
The doomed man had so exhausted himself by tears, prayers, and
lamentations, that he had scarcely strength left to stand under the
fatal beam. He repeatedly exclaimed, “My God! my God! must I die? Oh,
my dear wife!”
On the return of the fatigue party, they encountered some friends of
Slade, staunch and reliable citizens and members of the committee,
but who were personally attached to the condemned. On hearing of
his sentence, one of them, a stout-hearted man, pulled out his
handkerchief and walked away, weeping like a child. Slade still
begged to see his wife, most piteously, and it seemed hard to deny
his request; but the bloody consequences that were sure to follow
the inevitable attempt at a rescue, that her presence and entreaties
would have certainly incited, forbade the granting of his request.
Several gentlemen were sent for to see him, in his last moments, one
of whom (Judge Davis) made a short address to the people; but in
such low tones as to be inaudible, save to a few in his immediate
vicinity. One of his friends, after exhausting his powers of
entreaty, threw off his coat and declared that the prisoner could not
be hanged until he himself was killed. A hundred guns were instantly
leveled at him; whereupon he turned and fled; but, being brought
back, he was compelled to resume his coat, and to give a promise of
future peaceable demeanor.
Scarcely a leading man in Virginia could be found, though numbers of
the citizens joined the ranks of the guard when the arrest was made.
All lamented the stern necessity which dictated the execution.
Everything being ready, the command was given, “Men, do your duty,”
and the box being instantly slipped from beneath his feet, he died
almost instantaneously.
The body was cut down and carried to the Virginia Hotel, where, in
a darkened room, it was scarcely laid out, when the unfortunate
and bereaved companion of the deceased arrived, at headlong speed,
to find that all was over, and that she was a widow. Her grief and
heart-piercing cries were terrible evidences of the depth of her
attachment for her lost husband, and a considerable period elapsed
before she could regain the command of her excited feelings.
There is something about the desperado-nature that is wholly
unaccountable--at least it looks unaccountable. It is this. The true
desperado is gifted with splendid courage, and yet he will take the
most infamous advantage of his enemy; armed and free, he will stand up
before a host and fight until he is shot all to pieces, and yet when he
is under the gallows and helpless he will cry and plead like a child.
Words are cheap, and it is easy to call Slade a coward (all executed
men who do not “die game” are promptly called cowards by unreflecting
people), and when we read of Slade that he “had so exhausted himself by
tears, prayers, and lamentations, that he had scarcely strength left
to stand under the fatal beam,” the disgraceful word suggests itself
in a moment--yet in frequently defying and inviting the vengeance of
banded Rocky Mountain cut-throats by shooting down their comrades and
leaders, and never offering to hide or fly, Slade showed that he was a
man of peerless bravery. No coward would dare that. Many a notorious
coward, many a chicken-livered poltroon, coarse, brutal, degraded, has
made his dying speech without a quaver in his voice and been swung into
eternity with what looked like the calmest fortitude, and so we are
justified in believing, from the low intellect of such a creature, that
it was not _moral_ courage that enabled him to do it. Then, if moral
courage is not the requisite quality, what could it have been that this
stout-hearted Slade lacked?--this bloody, desperate, kindly-mannered,
urbane gentleman, who never hesitated to warn his most ruffianly
enemies that he would kill them whenever or wherever he came across
them next! I think it is a conundrum worth investigating.
GENERAL SHERIDAN HUNTS THE BUFFALO
DE B. R. KEIM
From “On the Border with Sheridan’s Troopers.” Reprinted by
permission of the publishers, Claxton, Remsen & Heffinger,
Philadelphia.[25]
To relieve the monotony of inactivity the Commanding General, much to
the pleasure of a number of the officers of the staff and garrison at
Fort Hays, proposed a “genuine” buffalo-hunt. The diversion was also in
part out of compliment to Captain Merryman, of the U. S. revenue cutter
M’Culloch, then on a visit to headquarters. A bright day in October was
fixed for the sport. Accordingly at an early hour the horses were sent
to the railroad and put on the cars. Leaving Hays City we ran up the
track, a distance of thirty miles. Here, by means of a gangplank, the
horses were led out of the cars and saddled by the orderlies. Leaving
the guard the General had brought with him to protect the train, we
mounted and “lit out,” as rapid locomotion is called in that locality.
Each person wore a brace of pistols for close work, and, carried a
breech-loading rifle to use at greater distance.
After a lively gallop of several miles, passing within the cordon of
watchful sentinels, always found on the outskirts, we struck a herd
numbering several thousand animals. Our approach had already been
signalled and the herd was moving off at a rapid pace. There was no
time to lose. Each one of the party singled out his animal, and putting
spurs to his horse dashed after, striving to get abreast his game at
a distance of a few paces, in order to deliver his fire. The General
led off in the charge followed by Merryman, who, accustomed to salt
water navigation, swayed from side to side. He, however, maintained a
vigorous hold upon the pummel of the saddle, bounded into the air and
returned emphatically, but not always gracefully, into his saddle with
every leap of his horse. The General, after considerable manœuvering,
managed to separate a fine cow from her companions. The chase was quite
spirited for several hundred yards, but a well directed shot under the
shoulder, which very summarily suspended the powers of locomotion on
the part of the buffalo, put a termination to the race. Several of the
party soon became busily engaged on their own account in the exciting
sport. One young bull, of irate temper, finding himself selected as a
target, undertook to show fight and turned upon his pursuer. For some
minutes the characters were reversed, and, judging from appearances, it
might have been supposed that the buffalo was the hunter. In the course
of an hour five animals were killed. Most of the horses, however,
were perfectly “green,” and consequently no use whatever, except to
follow, giving the rider an opportunity to witness the sport without
participating in it.
There is something majestic and formidable in the appearance of a
buffalo. It is therefore not surprising that but few horses will
readily approach sufficiently near to enable the hunter to make a
close shot. Some horses rebel, notwithstanding every effort to allay
their alarm. Others, by a proper course of training, carry their
riders, without any direction, into just the position desirable. Such
an animal is a treasure in the esteem of a plainsman. He talks about
his “buffalo horse” with more pride than he would of himself, had he
accomplished a feat ever so wonderful. It was interesting to watch the
movements of the trained horse. He approached the buffalo rapidly but
cautiously. His eyes were steadily fixed upon the animal and watched
every motion. Should the buffalo expedite his pace, the horse did
likewise, regulating his increased rate of speed so as to get alongside
without unnecessarily alarming the animal. As the horse came abreast,
the buffalo naturally swayed his course away to the right or left. This
was the dangerous part of the chase. Should the buffalo after moving
away, the horse following, turn suddenly, a collision would be almost
certain. This the horse seemed to know so perfectly that he changed
direction on a long turn. After firing, should the animal fall, the
horse kept up his speed, described a circle bringing him back to the
carcass of the dead or wounded buffalo.
Timid horses and awkward riders run great risks of their lives by not
knowing how to avoid any hostile demonstrations on the part of the
buffalo. The latter has the advantage, and by not keeping a close
watch, fatal results are sure to occur. An old hunter, mounted on a
“buffalo horse,” in every sense of the term, dashing fearlessly across
the plain in pursuit of this truly magnificent game, presents a picture
the very culmination of manly sport.
During our own attempts to make a fair show of knowledge of the
subject, there were several very narrow escapes as regarded personal
safety. Two of our party being in pursuit of the same animal, there was
quite a competition as to who would get the first shot. The rider in
the rear, in the excitement had his pistol go off out of time. The ball
passed within a very few inches of the front rider’s head. Both were
alarmed, and the race terminated by the one apologizing, and the other
feeling around to see whether he had been hurt.
While our own sport was going on, two Mexicans with us, were to be seen
in the very midst of the herd following up the younger animals. Each
rider had his lariat, holding the coil in one hand and with the other
swinging the loop above his head in order to get the proper momentum.
It was short work. At the first attempt, each man had his noose over
the head of a fine yearling. The horses gradually slackened their gait,
while the terrified buffaloes made every effort to escape. One of the
lariats, unfortunately, parted and off went the animal with it dangling
at his heels. The other calf was secured and sent to the train.
After several hours occupied in the exciting amusement of the chase, we
returned to the cars. The horses, much blown, were unsaddled and put
aboard. A party of soldiers were sent out to bring in the meat.
On our homeward journey a fine herd of antelopes was discovered ahead,
close to the track. By a little skillful calculation of time, distance,
and velocity, the engineer brought us within three hundred yards. A
perfect fusilade was opened out of the car windows, during which one of
the beautiful little animals was seen to fall. The train stopped and
the “meat” was brought in. This terminated the day’s sport. At nine
o’clock in the evening we reached Fort Hays.
I may, in this connection, make a few passing notes upon the resorts
and habits of the American bison or buffalo, as he is popularly
designated. With the savage nomad, he constitutes the actual and
aboriginal occupant of the plains. The movements of the immense
herds of buffaloes regulate the locations of the savage tribes. They
constitute the commissariat of the Indian, and govern frequently his
ability for war or control his desire for peace. Prior to the opening
of the country to the settler, the buffalo roamed over the entire
territory from the Missouri river to the Rocky mountains, and from
the plains of western Texas to the head-waters of the Missouri in the
north. To-day the buffalo is rarely seen south of the Red river, or
within two hundred miles of the Missouri, at Kansas City. In numbers
he is evidently rapidly diminishing, though the countless herds found
during the summer along the railroads, would seem to indicate that the
race is far from running out.