While recovering from his wound, Plummer, by constant practice, had acquired an expertness in the use of the pistol with his left hand, nearly equal to that of which Crawford’s shot had deprived him. Crawford being out of his way, he was not satisfied that the quarrel which had terminated so injuriously to him should be propitiated without redress. He accordingly selected Phleger for a victim. With every outward demonstration of friendship, he would, whenever they met, press him to drink, or to an interchange of such other civilities as would bring them together, and afford opportunity or pretence for sudden quarrel. Phleger never accepted any of these invitations, without his hand upon his pistol. Plummer, often, when in company with Phleger, would make an ostentatious display of his regard for him. “Once,” said he, “Harry, I would have killed you; but I could not now, when I think matters all over, find it in my nature to injure any true man, who would stand by another as you did by Crawford.” Phleger could not be flattered by these honeyed words, even into momentary forgetfulness of the diabolical motives which prompted them. He maintained a quiet but unmistakable attitude of defence. He was freighting at this time, and had several teamsters in his employ.

“If,” said he to them, “Plummer or any of his associates come for me, and I make the first shot and you fail to make the second, I’ll shoot you. Just remember that.”

On one occasion, Plummer, as if for an excuse to draw his pistol, commenced talking of its merits to Phleger, who also drew his upon the instant. In the course of the conversation, Plummer, while illustrating some quality of the weapon, pointed it directly at Phleger; but when he saw the muzzle of Phleger’s at the same moment directed at his heart, he took the hint, sheathed his pistol, and departed. Phleger was not afterwards troubled with his attentions.

A miner by the name of Ellis, who had given important testimony against Moore and Reeves, by whom he was wounded in the mÊlÉe which resulted in the death of Cazette, was next singled out for slaughter. He owned a mining claim in the gulch, which he was working with the hope of speedily acquiring means to take him from the country. Cyrus Skinner, a noted ruffian, assaulted him while on his way to the claim, and beat him unmercifully. He left him with the assurance that if he ever saw him in the town he would kill him. Through fear that he or some of his associates would execute this threat, he used to steal out of his cabin and go to his work by an old game trail over the spur of the mountain, to escape observation. But his steps were dogged. He could not move in any direction without a rough upon his track, watching for an opportunity to shoot him. His life was rendered miserable by the conviction that he was liable at any moment to secret assassination. Resolved to escape if possible, he left for Fort Benton. The roughs soon discovered his absence, and sent three or four of their number in pursuit of him. He foiled them by turning from the main trail into an unexplored region. After several days he reached the Missouri River below Benton, where he constructed a wigwam in which he dwelt, subsisting upon roots, berries, and the remnants of his provisions, until the Mackinaw boats descended the river from Fort Benton in the spring. Hailing one of them he was taken on board, and returned in safety to the States.

The writer of this history was early marked for summary retaliation. I had disappointed the expectations of the roughs at the trial of Moore and Reeves, by voting for the death penalty, after having supported their demand for a jury. They made no secret of their threats against my life, and that of my friend, Judge Walter B. Dance. We never went to our claims without a loaded gun and a revolver. Dance, being a man of great physical strength, and courage to match, was not one to be easily frightened. In personal contest he would have proved more than a match for the strongest of his enemies. On one occasion, when Judge Dance and I were quietly walking down the street, we saw Plummer approaching. Dance drew a small bowie-knife, and picking up a stick, commenced whittling. Plummer came up, and casting a suspicious glance at the knife, asked,

“Judge, why do you always begin to whittle when you meet me?”

The answer, accompanied by a look of blended sternness and indignation, came promptly,

“Because, sir, I never intend that you shall get the advantage of me. You know my opinion of you and your friends. I will not be shot down like a dog by any of you, if I can help it.”

The roughs held Dance in great fear. To those qualities I have mentioned, he added remarkable force of character. He was bold and fearless in his expression of opinion, and they well understood that no man in the settlement could wield a stronger influence over the minds of the community, in support of law and order, and the prompt punishment of crime.

Moore and Reeves had now returned. The storm of indignation, which had driven them out, was succeeded by a calm of sluggish incertitude. The prominent actors in that event, abandoned by those upon whose support they had depended, were obliged to protect themselves as best they could against the persecutions and bloody designs of their vindictive enemies. No true spirit of reform had yet animated the people. When appealed to for combination and resistance to the fearful power now growing into an absolute and bloody dictatorship, they based their refusal upon selfish and personal considerations. They could not act without endangering their lives. They intended to leave the country as soon as their claims were worked out. They would be driven from their claims, and robbed of all they had taken from them, if they engaged in any active opposition to the roughs; whereas, if they remained passive, and attended to their own business, there was a chance for them to take their money back to their families. It was impossible to assemble a meeting for the purpose of considering and discussing, with safety, the condition and exposure of the people.

Meantime the roughs were thoroughly organized, and were carrying out their plans for wholesale plunder in every direction. Every day added to the number and magnitude of their depredations. The Walla Walla express had been robbed, as it afterwards appeared, by Plummer’s direction. An attempt to rob the store of Higgins and Worden at Missoula would have succeeded, had not the merchants been apprised of it, in time to conceal their gold.

A man by the name of Davenport, who, it was known to the roughs, had a little money in Bannack, left with his wife, intending to go to Benton, and thence by steamboat to the States. They stopped to lunch at the springs between Bannack and Rattlesnake. A man whose face was concealed, came from behind a pile of rocks standing near, drew a revolver, and presenting it, demanded their money.

Mrs. Davenport asked,

“Who are you?”

He replied, “The Robber of the Glen.”

“Oh!” she said inquiringly, “are you Johnny Glenn?”

“No,” he answered, “I’m the Robber of the Glen, and want your money.”

Mrs. Davenport surrendered the three purses containing the money, together with her gold watch, remarking as she did so, that two of the purses and the watch belonged to her. With much gallantry of manner the robber restored them to her immediately, retaining only the single purse belonging to her husband. The plundered couple then proceeded to Benton, and Mrs. Davenport secured an early passage to the States. They never knew who the robber was.

While confined with his wound, Plummer repeatedly asked permission of Doctor Glick to take a ride on horseback. The necessity for quiet while the wound was healing obliged the doctor invariably to refuse him. One morning he called as usual to see how the cure was progressing, and Plummer was not at home. The doctor supposed he had gone out into the town, and at a later hour called, and, on examination of the wound, was satisfied that he had been taking violent exercise. On questioning him, Plummer, who knew that the doctor dared not betray him, told him of the robbery of Davenport, which he had that day committed.

The robbers next broke into and rifled a bakery belonging to one Le Grau, a Frenchman, who lived on a back street in Bannack. Preparations were made for burning the house, but the design was not carried out.

While atrocities like these were daily increasing, a reign of terror more fearful in character and results pervaded the settlement. Every man’s life was endangered by the free and reckless use of fire-arms. The crack of pistols and guns, which weapons were always the first resort of the roughs in settling disputes, was heard at all hours of the day and night, in the saloon and restaurant.

Frequent and bloody affrays among themselves, often terminated in the death of one or both of the parties engaged, and sometimes of one or more of those who happened to be within range of the reckless firing while the quarrel was in progress. It was dangerous to pass along the streets, where stray bullets were not an exception, more dangerous still to attempt to allay a broil among desperadoes, who settled all difficulties with bowie-knives and revolvers.

On one of the days of this dismal period, two young men, named Banfield and Sapp, the first a gambler, the latter a miner, engaged in a game of poker in Cyrus Skinner’s saloon. During the game, Sapp saw Banfield abstract a card from the deck, by the aid of which he was enabled to declare a “flush” hand. He charged him with the theft. Jumping to his feet, Banfield drew his revolver, which he levelled at the head of his antagonist, who was unarmed. Jack Russell, who was watching the game, now interfered, and quiet being restored, the men resumed play. In a few moments Sapp again charged Banfield with cheating. Banfield fired at him without effect. Sapp being unarmed, Dr. Bissell thrust a revolver into his hand, and the two men at once engaged in a pistol fight, dodging around the posts which supported the roof, and firing at random until their revolvers were emptied. They then clinched, and Russell tried to separate them. Moore and Reeves were in one of the bunks fastened to the wall of the saloon, asleep. Roused by the firing both got up, and Moore, pistol in hand, at once joined in the fight. Placing the muzzle of his revolver in Russell’s ear, he pulled the trigger, and the cap failing to explode, he pulled a second time, with a like result. So rapid had been the movements of Moore, that it was not until after the second failure that Russell could turn his face toward him and exclaim,

“What do you mean?”

Moore, who had not recognized him until that moment dropped his arm, replying,

“Oh, is that you, Jack?”

Russell said in explanation,

“These are friends of mine, and I want them to stop quarrelling.”

Moore now assisted Russell, and they succeeded in a few minutes in separating the combatants.

“Let’s all take a drink,” said Moore, “and be friends.”

To this Sapp and Banfield, as neither had injured the other, assented. As they stood with their glasses raised, Moore heard a groan, and going towards the table, saw Buz Cavan’s dog just expiring.

“Boys,” said he, turning towards the two reconciled men who were waiting for him to rejoin them at the bar, “you’ve killed a dog.”

Banfield called immediately for more drinks, when another groan was heard. On going to the bunk from whence it came, they found George Carrhart writhing in extreme agony. Dr. Bissell lifted him from the bunk to the table, and after a brief examination of his body and pulse, made the announcement,

“He is dying.”

Moore who stood by, on hearing this, called to Reeves and Forbes who were standing in another part of the room,

“Boys, they have shot Carrhart,” and with an emphatic stroke of his fist upon the counter, he added with an oath, “Let’s kill ’em,” simultaneously raising his pistol and firing at both Sapp and Banfield. Russell at the same moment seized his arm, with a view to prevent his shooting, and in the struggle misdirected his aim. Meanwhile, Reeves fired at Banfield, who dodged under a table and crept out of the back door with a shot in his knee. Sapp, wounded in the little finger, also retreated under the fire of the road agents,—a friend, Goliah Reilly, rushing to his assistance, who also, upon turning to escape, received a bullet in his heel.

George Carrhart was a fine-looking, intelligent, gentlemanly man. He had been a member of the legislature of one of the Western States. Whiskey transformed him into a rowdy, made the company of ruffians congenial, and led him on to his unfortunate fate.

Dick Sapp was a brave, generous young man, very popular with the people. The next morning, accompanied by several Colorado friends, he returned to Skinner’s saloon. Skinner, who had seconded without participating in the attempt of Moore and Reeves to kill him the evening before, when he saw him enter, was alarmed for his own safety, and sought to propitiate him by inviting him and his friends to drink with him.

“No,” said Sapp, “I want none of your whiskey. Last night I came here unarmed to indulge in a little game of poker, and you all tried to kill me. Now I’m here to fight you all, singly, and I’ve brought some friends, to see that I have fair play.”

Moore and Skinner apologized, and begged him to overlook it; but Sapp refused to accept their apologies, and left. Afterwards some friends of Moore and Skinner, at their request, went to Sapp, and with no little difficulty effected a reconciliation.

Poor Banfield entrusted the care of his wound to an unskilful physician, and died soon after, for the want of proper treatment.

Early in the Spring of 1863, Winnemuck, a warrior chief of the Bannacks, and his band of braves, camped in the sage brush above the town. One of the citizens of Bannack made known the fact that he had been informed by a white lad, whom he had met at the time of his escape from these Indians several years before, that they had slain his parents, and captured two sisters and himself. The elder of the sisters died of harsh treatment. A white girl who had been seen in Winnemuck’s band, was supposed to be the other. A few citizens met at my cabin to devise means for her ransom, as any attempt at forcible rescue would provoke the Indians to violence. Skinner called the roughs together at his saloon. They decided that the circumstances were sufficiently aggravating to justify the slaughter of the band, and made preparations for that object. Meantime a half-breed apprised Winnemuck of his danger. Nowise alarmed, the old chief ranged his three hundred warriors along the valley, where they could command the approach of an enemy, however formidable. So confident was he of victory in the threatened encounter, that he promised to follow it up by a general massacre of every white person in the gulch. Fortunately at this time, whiskey came to the rescue. The leaders got drunk, the allied citizens were disgusted, and a murderous enterprise that would probably have cost many lives was abandoned. In pursuance of the arrangements first made at the meeting in my cabin, Mr. Carroll, for a very small consideration, effected the ransom of the little girl, and took her to his cabin.

The inadequacy of the price roused in all a suspicion that the Indians intended to recapture the child. Carroll was enjoined to secrete her against such a possibility. The Indians loitered around his cabin, and finally made an attempt to carry her off. An alarm was given, the citizens and roughs rallied, the Indians released the child, and ran to escape the attack of the citizens. In the mÊlÉe, Hayes Lyons, one of the roughs, fired at and wounded an Indian who was on the retreat, and who at the time was shouting “good Indian,” to intimate his friendly disposition. “Old Snag,” a Bannack chief, who had come with his band into town a few days before, and who when the alarm was given was in Carroll’s cabin, now came out, and was talking with his daughter, when Buck Stinson, another of the ruffian gang, without the least intimation of his design, walked close beside him, and shot him in the side and head. The old man, who had always been friendly to the people, fell dead in his tracks; and Skinner, with savage brutality, came up and scalped him.