AS A VERACIOUS chronicler of the events, inexplicable and unbelievable as this story may appear, of the life and exploits of Swiftwater Bill Gates, I want to begin this chapter with the prefatory announcement that, all and singular, as the lawyers say, the statements herein are absolutely true and may be verified.

I give this simple warning merely because, as I recall what happened the next two or three days after Swiftwater’s arrest, it seems to me that many of my readers will say, “These things could not have happened.”

Swiftwater, calmly seating himself, in a big leather upholstered Morris chair, said, looking at the Sheriff; “Old man, I guess we can fix this thing up right here. Send for the judge and have him come down here quick.”

The officer looked at me and smiled.

“I don’t want to see Mr. Gates put in jail tonight” said I. “And if there is any way that this thing can be settled I am willing. More than that,” and here I looked at Swiftwater, “I think Bill will not make any attempt to escape, and if it is all right with you, I’ll go on his bond.”

After more palaver of this kind, and here I am about to tell something about judicial processes that will surely cause a smile, a messenger was sent from the hotel to another hotel, where was stopping Judge Hatch, who was sitting on the Superior Court bench in King County, although he lived in another county down the Sound.

Outside in the hall there were a score of people, waiting to see Swiftwater, and to learn what would be the outcome of the case. There was the sheriff, Lou Smith; two other deputies, a half dozen lawyers and the reporters for the Seattle newspapers—quite a colony altogether.

After half an hour the judge came in the room, accompanied by another deputy sheriff.

“We’d just as well have some of the lawyers in here,” said Swiftwater. “Ask Mr. Murphy and Mr. Cole to come in.”

The door was opened and in came the attorneys and some others.

“Will you please ring the bell, Mrs. Beebe?” said Swiftwater.

I rang the bell, the boy came and Swiftwater ordered two pint bottles of wine.

Now, this was Swiftwater’s way of dallying with justice. It was another exemplification of his idea—the mainspring in the man’s whole character—that money could do anything and everything.

The wine came, two bottles at a time and then four, and then six. Every time the boy came up, Swiftwater borrowed money from me to pay the bill. Then Swiftwater did something that I never believed could happen. The National Bank at Fairbanks had, a few weeks before, issued its first currency—the first government bank notes in all Alaska. Swiftwater had a bunch of the new $20 bills and, wrapping in each a nugget taken from Number 6 Cleary, he presented one to each of his friends—that is, all who were present.

“If Mr. Gates will deposit $2,250, as counsel for Mrs. Gates desires, which is to be applied for the maintenance of herself and children and for attorney’s fees, I think we may continue this matter until a later date,” said the judge.

Swiftwater came over to me.

“I’ve got a thousand dollar draft,” said he, “and if you will loan me $1,250 I’ll pay everything up Monday,” said Swiftwater.

I have never yet fully made up my mind what led me to loan Swiftwater that money, unless it was that, like everyone else who knew of his wonderful capacity for getting money rapidly out of the North, I believed he would make good all of his promises. I gave him the money, and Swiftwater was a free man.

Just then the sheriff himself opened the door and, noticing one of the lawyers holding a bunch of bills and drafts in his hand, said:

“I guess I will take charge of this.”

And so it came about that the money was deposited in the clerk’s office in the county court, and on Monday morning, before any of us were about, the lawyers for Bera, Murphy & Cole, appeared in the courthouse with an order signed by the judge to draw the money out. Bera got $750 of the $1,000 promised her for maintenance for herself and children and the lawyers got the remainder.

Is it any wonder, then, that I have often thought it was the easiest thing in the world for Swiftwater to find a loophole in the meshes of the law by which he could escape, while I have never yet found a way to make the law give me just common justice?

And now it was Swiftwater’s turn to act. In another day the newspapers had his story that he had been “held up,” and after that came a sensation in the Bar Association of Seattle the like of which is not on record. And while the lawyers were fighting over the spoils, Swiftwater cleverly enough, though haunted by the spectre of the state prison, and constantly pressed by Kitty Gates, his polygamous wife, began working on Bera’s sympathies. He came to the hotel and went to Bera’s room.

“Bera,” he said, “unless you get a divorce from me, and do it at once, Kitty will send me to the penitentiary; I will lose all my property in Alaska, and the boys and you will be everlastingly disgraced.”

Bera listened. It is enough to say that with Swiftwater in the penitentiary, his mining interests in Alaska, which promised brighter than anything he had ever undertaken, and that means hundreds of thousands of dollars, all of Bera’s chance and mine to ever get a new start in life would have been wasted.

Swiftwater daily said:

“Bera, you certainly love the boys enough to save them the disgrace of having a felon for a father.”

The argument was enough. Bera consented, and although, as I understand it, the law specifically prohibits a divorce where the parties agree in advance on the severance of the holy marriage tie, Swiftwater went away and Bera brought suit for divorce in the court of King County. And in time the decree was granted and is still of record in that county.

A week later Swiftwater, as I afterwards found out, joined Kitty Gates in Portland and the two went to San Francisco. Thus can be turned into the basest uses the legal processes of our courts and, strange as it may seem, Swiftwater, after Bera’s divorce, legally married Kitty, then divorced her, and not later than two years afterwards he told the newspapers in San Francisco, that having divorced all his other wives, he was looking for a new one.

I want to ask now, is there no law to reach a monster of this kind? Are the laws so framed that men of Swiftwater’s type can go at large throughout the country ruining the lives of young girls, and, followed by a halo of gold and the fame that quick fortune making brings, claiming and receiving the friendship of their fellow men?