Gold

After they had approached within plain sight we saw that the single horseman was Cal Marsh; and that Johnny and Old each led an animal on which a man was tied, his arms behind him, his feet shackled beneath the horse’s barrel.

“Here, you fellows,” said Johnny in a low voice, “just catch hold here and help with these birds.”

The three descended rather wearily from their horses, the lead lines of which Cal held while the rest unshackled the prisoners and helped them to dismount. They were both known to me, one as the big desperado, Malone; and the other as the barkeeper at Morton’s place, our old friend of Chagres days. The latter’s head was roughly bound with a bloody cloth. Under Johnny’s direction we tied them firmly. He issued his orders in a low-voiced, curt fashion that precluded anything but the most instant and silent obedience.

“There,” said he at last, “they’ll do. Chuck them inside where they’ll be out of sight. Now about those two horses─”

“I’ll just run ’em up to the Dutchman’s Flat and stake ’em out thar,” interposed Old. “Thar ain’t no one thar; and they won’t be discovered.”

“Well,” conceded Johnny, “if your horse isn’t too tired.”

“She’ll make it,” replied Old confidently.

“Now for our horses,” said Johnny. “Won’t do to be getting in at this time of night. It doesn’t look natural. Don’t believe we can get them to the stable without being spotted. Maybe you’d better stake them up there too. Can you walk back?”

“I reckon,” said Old.

He tied the four led horses together, mounted, took the lead rope from Cal, and rode off up the gulch.

Cal came to the fire and sat down. I was instantly struck by his ghastly appearance.

“Cal’s bored through the shoulder,” Johnny explained. “Now, Jim, you’ve got to go up and get Dr. Rankin. He lives at Barnes’s hotel, you know. Barnes is all right; bring him down, too, if you happen to wake him up. Go around to Danny Randall’s quietly and tell him we want to see him. He sleeps in that little back room. Throw some pebbles against the stovepipe; that’ll wake him up. Look out he doesn’t pot you. Don’t let anybody see you if you can possibly help; and tell the others to slip out here quietly, too. Do you understand all that?”

“I see what I’m to do,” I assented; “but let me in! What’s it all about?”

“We met these men and three others driving Woodruff’s oxen this morning,” said Johnny rapidly. “Stopped and had quite a chat with them. They told what sounded like a straight story of having bought the oxen. I knew Woodruff wanted to sell. Didn’t suppose they’d have the nerve to lift them right under our noses. Guess they hadn’t an idea they’d meet us on the road. We were taking the lower trail just for a change. So as soon as we got the news from you, we went back, of course. They suspected trouble, and had turned off. Old and Cal are wonders at trailing. Came up with them just beyond Bitter Water, and monkeyed around quite a while before we got a favourable chance to tackle them. Then we took the cattle away and brought back these birds. That’s all there was to it.”

“You said five. Where are the other three?”

“Killed ’em,” said Johnny briefly. “Now run along and do your job.”

After some delay and difficulty I fulfilled my instructions, returning at last in company with Danny Randall, to find my friends sitting around the little fire, and Dr. Rankin engaged in bathing Cal’s wound. Johnny was repeating his story, to which the others were listening attentively.

“I learned a little more of this sort of thing in Sacramento,” he was concluding. “And I’d like to state this right here and now: practical jokes on these immigrants are poor taste as far as I am concerned from now on. That’s my own private declaration of war.”

“Let’s take a look at your birds, Johnny,” suggested Randall.

I brought out the prisoners and stacked them up against the trees. They gave us back look for look defiantly.

“You won’t live a week after this,” said the Morton man, whose name was Carhart, addressing Johnny.

“I’ll just have a look at your head, my friend,” said Dr. Rankin.

The man bent his head, and the doctor began to remove the bloody bandages.

“Question is,” said Johnny, “what do we do with them?”

Danny was thinking hard.

“One of two things,” said he at length: “We can string them up quietly, and leave them as a warning; or we can force matters to a showdown by calling a public meeting.”

“Question is,” said I, “whether we can get anybody with nerve enough to serve as officers of court, or, indeed, to testify as witnesses.”

“You said a true word there,” put in Carhart with an oath.

“I’ll bear witness for one,” offered Dr. Rankin, looking up from his work, “and on a good many things.”

“Look out, damn you!” muttered Carhart.

“I’ve been called to a good many cases of gunshot wounds,” continued the doctor steadily, “and I’ve kept quiet because I was given to understand that my life was worth nothing if I spoke.”

“You’d better keep your mouth shut!” warned the bandit.

“Now,” pursued the doctor, “I personally believe the time has come to assert ourselves. I’m in favour of serving notice on the whole lot, and cleaning up the mess once and for all. I believe there are more decent men than criminals in this camp, if you get them together.”

“That’s my idea,” agreed Johnny heartily. “Get the camp together; I’ll see every man in it and let Woodruff tell his tale, and then let Old or me tell ours.”

“And I’ll tell mine,” said Dr. Rankin.

Danny Randall shook his head.

“They’ll rise to it like men!” cried Johnny indignantly. “Nobody but a murderer and cattle thief listening to that story could remain unmoved.”

“Well,” said Danny, “if you won’t just quietly hang these fellows right now, try the other. I should string ’em up and shut their mouths. You’re too early; it won’t do.”

CHAPTER XXXV

THE TRIAL

The meeting took place in the Bella Union, and the place was crowded to the doors. All the roughs in town were on hand, fully armed, swearing, swaggering, and brandishing their weapons. They had much to say by way of threat, for they did not hesitate to show their sympathies. As I looked upon their unexpected numbers and listened to their wild talk, I must confess that my heart failed me. Though they had not the advantage in numbers, they knew each other; were prepared to work together; were, in general, desperately courageous and reckless, and imbued with the greatest confidence. The decent miners, on the other hand, were practically unknown to each other; and, while brave enough and hardy enough, possessed neither the recklessness nor desperation of the others. I think our main weakness sprang from the selfish detachment that had prevented us from knowing whom to trust.

After preliminary organization a wrangle at once began as to the form of the trial. We held very strongly that we should continue our usual custom of open meeting; but Morton insisted with equal vehemence that the prisoners should have jury trial. The discussion grew very hot and confused. Pistols and knives were flourished. The chair put the matter to a vote, but was unable to decide from the yells and howls that answered the question which side had the preponderance. A rising vote was demanded.

“Won’t they attempt a rescue?” I asked of Danny Randall, under cover of the pandemonium. “They could easily fight their way free.”

He shook his head.

“That would mean outlawing themselves. They would rather get clear under some show of law. Then they figure to run the camp.”

The vote was understood to favour a jury trial.

“That settles it,” said Danny; “the poor damn fools.”

“What do you mean?” I asked him.

“You’ll see,” said he.

In the selection of the jury we had the advantage. None of the roughs could get on the panel to hang the verdict, for the simple reason that they were all too well known. The miners cautiously refused to endorse any one whose general respectability was not known to them. I found myself one of those selected.

A slight barrier consisting of a pole thrown across one corner of the room set aside a jury box. We took our places therein. Men crowded to the pole, talking for our benefit, cursing steadily, and uttering the most frightful threats.

I am not going to describe that most turbulent afternoon. The details are unessential to the main point, which was our decision. Counsel was appointed by the court from among the numerous ex-lawyers. The man who took charge of the defence was from New York, and had served some ten years in the profession before the gold fever took him. I happen to know that he was a most sober-minded, steady individual, not at all in sympathy with the rougher elements; but, like most of his ilk, he speedily became so intensely interested in plying his profession that he forgot utterly the justice of the case. He defended the lawless element with all the tricks at his command. For that reason Woodruff was prevented from testifying at all, except as to his ownership of the cattle; so that the effect of his pathetic story was lost. Dr. Rankin had no chance to appear. This meeting should have marked the awakening of public spirit to law and order; and if all the elements of the case had been allowed to come before the decent part of the community in a common-sense fashion, I am quite sure it would have done so. But two lawyers got interested in tangling each other up with their technicalities, and the result was that the real significance of the occasion was lost to sight. The lawyer for the defence, pink and warm and happy, sat down quite pleased with his adroitness. A few of us, and the desperadoes, alone realized what it all meant.

We retired to Randall’s little room to deliberate. Not a man of the twelve of us had the first doubt as to the guilt of the prisoners. We took a ballot. The result was eleven for acquittal and one for conviction. I had cast the one vote for conviction.

We argued the matter for three hours.

“There’s no doubt the men are guilty,” said one. “That isn’t the question. The question is, dare we declare it?”

“It amounts to announcing our own death sentence,” argued another. “Those fellows would stand together, but who of the lot would stand by us? Why, we don’t even know for sure who would be with us.”

“This case ought never to have been tried by a jury,” complained a third bitterly. “It ought to have been tried in a miners’ court; and if it hadn’t been for those soft heads who were strong for doing things ‘regularly’ instead of sensibly, we’d have had it done that way.”

“Well,” said an older man gravely, “I agree to that. I am going to be governed in my decision not by the merits of the case, but by the fact that I have a family back in the States. I consider my obligations to them greater than to this community.”

I reasoned with them for a long time, bringing to bear all the arguments I had heard advanced at various times during our discussions in Danny Randall’s back room. At last, seeing I could in no manner shake their resolution, I gave in. After all, I could not blame them. The case was to them only one of cattle stealing; they had no chance to realize that it was anything more. Without solicitation on my part they agreed to keep secret my opposition to the verdict of acquittal.

Our decision was greeted by wild yells and the discharge of pistols on the part of the rough element. The meeting broke up informally and in confusion. It would have been useless for the presiding officer to have attempted to dismiss court. The mob broke through en masse to congratulate the prisoners. Immediately the barkeepers were overwhelmed with work. Here and there I could see a small group of the honest men talking low-voiced, with many shakes of the head. Johnny, Old, and Cal, who had attended with his arm slung up, had their heads together in a corner. Danny Randall, who, it will be remembered, had not appeared publicly in any way, stood at his customary corner of the bar watching all that was going on. His gamblers were preparing to reopen the suspended games.

After conferring together a moment the three express messengers made their way slowly across the room to the bar. I could not see exactly what happened, but heard the sudden reverberations of several pistol shots. The lamps and glasses rattled with the concussion, the white smoke of the discharges eddied and rose. An immediate dead silence fell, except for the sounds made by the movements of those seeking safe places. Johnny and his two friends shoulder to shoulder backed slowly away toward the door. Johnny and Old presented each two pistols at the group around the bar, while Cal, a revolver in his well hand, swept the muzzle slowly from side to side. Nobody near the bar stirred. The express messengers backed to the door.

“Keep your heads inside,” warned Johnny clearly. On the words they vanished.

Immediately pandemonium broke loose. The men along the bar immediately became very warlike; but none of those who brandished pistols tried to leave the building. From the swing and sway of the crowd, and the babel of yells, oaths, threats, and explanations I could make nothing. Danny Randall alone of all those in the room held his position unmoved. At last a clear way offered, so I went over to him.

“What’s happened?” I shouted at him through the din.

Danny shrugged his shoulders.

“They killed Carhart and Malone,” Danny replied curtly.

It seemed, I ascertained at last, that the three had advanced and opened fire on the two ex-prisoners without warning.

As soon as possible I made my escape and returned to our own camp. There I found the three of them seated smoking, their horses all saddled, standing near at hand.

“Are they coming our way?” asked Johnny instantly.

I told them that I had seen no indications of a mob.

“But why did you do it?” I cried. “It’s an open challenge! They’ll get you boys now sure!”

“That remains to be seen,” said Johnny grimly. “But it was the only thing to do. If Carhart and Malone had ever been given time to report on our confab the other evening, you and Danny Randall and Dr. Rankin would have been marked men. Now no one knows of your connection with this matter.”

“But they’ll be after you─”

“They were after us in any case,” Johnny pointed out. “Don’t deceive yourself there. Now you keep out of this and let us do it.”

“I reckon we can handle this bunch,” said Old.

“Lord! what a lot of jellyfish!” cried Johnny disgustedly. “Danny was right enough about them. But let me state right here and once again that practical jokes on immigrants are going to be mighty unhealthy here.”

CHAPTER XXXVI

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.