Soon after the transactions recorded in the last chapter, the Virginia City Vigilantes were informed that Bill Hunter had been seen in the Gallatin Valley. It was reported that he sought a covert among the rocks and brush, where he remained during the day, stealing out at night and seeking food among the scattered settlers, as he could find it. His place of concealment was about twenty miles from the mouth of the Gallatin River. A number of the Vigilantes, under the pretence of joining the Barney Hughes stampede to a new placer discovery, left Virginia City, and scoured the country for a distance of sixty miles or more, in search of the missing ruffian. Hunter was discovered during this search.

As soon as it became known that he was at the spot indicated, four resolute men at once volunteered to go in pursuit of, capture, and execute him. Their route lay across two heavy divides, and required about sixty miles of hurried travelling. The first day they crossed the divide between the Pas-sam-a-ri and the Madison, camping that night on the bank of the latter river, which they had forded with great difficulty. The weather was intensely cold, and their blankets afforded but feeble protection against it. They built a large camp-fire, and lay down as near to it as safety would permit. One of their number spread his blankets on the slope of a little hillock next the fire, and during the night slipped down until his feet encountered the hot embers. The weather increased in severity the next day, during most of which the Vigilantes rode through a fierce mountain snowstorm, with the wind directly in their faces. At two o’clock P.M. they halted for supper at the Milk ranche, about twenty miles from the place where they expected to find the fugitive. Under the guidance of a man whom they employed here, they then pushed on at a rapid pace, the storm gathering in fury as they progressed. At midnight they drew up near a lone cabin in the neighborhood of the rocky jungle where their game had taken cover.

“This storm has certainly routed him,” said one of the Vigilantes. “Ten to one, we bag him in the cabin.”

“Very likely,” replied another. “He would not suspect danger in such weather. It will save us a heap of trouble.”

One of the men rapped loudly at the cabin door. Opening it slowly, a look of amazement stole over the features of the inmate, as he surveyed the company of six mounted armed men.

“Good-evening,” said one, saluting him.

“Don’t know whether it is or not,” growled the man, evidently suspicious that a visit at so late an hour meant mischief.

“Build us a fire, man,” said the Vigilante. “We are nearly frozen, and this is the only place of shelter from this storm for many miles. Surely you won’t play the churl to a party of weather-bound prospectors.”

Reassured by this hearty reproof for his seeming unkindness, the man set to work with a will, and in a few moments a genial fire was blazing on the hearth, which the party enjoyed thoroughly. Glancing curiously around the little room, the Vigilantes discovered that it contained three occupants besides themselves. Placing their guns and pistols in convenient position, and stationing a sentinel to keep watch and feed the fire, the men spread their blankets on the clay surface of the enclosure, and in a few moments were locked in sleep; careful, however, first, to satisfy the eager curiosity of their entertainers, by a brief conversation about mining, stampeding, prospecting, etc., and leading them to believe that they were a party of miners, returning from an unsuccessful expedition.

Fatigued with the ride and exposure of the two previous days, the Vigilantes slept until a late hour the next morning. Two of the occupants of the cabin rose at the same time. The other, entirely enveloped in blankets, kept up a prolonged snore, whose deep bass signified that he was wrapped in profound slumber. The Vigilantes, contriving to keep four of their number in the cabin, while making preparations to depart, soon had their horses saddled; but when all was ready, one of them inquired in a careless tone,

“Who is the man that sleeps so soundly?”

“I don’t know him,” said the host.

“When did he come here?”

“At the beginning of the snowstorm, two days ago. He came in and asked permission to remain here until it was over.”

“Perhaps it’s an acquaintance. Won’t you describe him to us?”

The man complied, by giving a most accurate description of Hunter. No longer in doubt, the Vigilante went up to the bedside, and, in a loud voice, called out, “Bill Hunter!”

Hastily drawing the blanket from his face, the occupant stared wildly out upon the six armed men, asking in the same breath,

“Who’s there?”

Six shotguns levelled at his head answered the question.

“Give us your revolver, and get up,” was the command. Hunter instantly complied.

“You are arrested as one of Plummer’s band of road agents.”

“I hope,” said Hunter, “you will take me to Virginia City.” A Vigilante assented.

“What conveyance have you for me?”

“There,” said one, pointing to a horse, “is the animal you must ride.”

The prisoner put on his hat and overcoat, and mounted the horse. Just as he was about to seize the reins, a Vigilante took them from his hands, saying, with affected suavity,

“If you please, I’ll manage these for you. You’ve only to sit still and ride.”

After the company started, the robber cast a suspicious glance behind him, and saw one man following on foot. His countenance fell. The expression told, in stronger language than words, that the thought which harassed him was that he would not be taken to Virginia City. About two miles distant from the cabin, the company drew up and dismounted under a solitary tree. Scraping away the snow, they kindled a fire, and prepared their breakfast, of which the robber partook with them, and seemed to forget his fears, and laughed and joked as if no danger were nigh. Breakfast over, the Vigilantes held a brief consultation as to the disposition which should be made of their prisoner. On putting the question to vote, it was decided by the votes of all but the person who had signified to Hunter that he was to be taken to Virginia City, that his execution should take place instantly.

The condemned wretch turned deadly pale, and in a faint voice asked for water. One of the Vigilantes related to him the crimes of which he had been guilty.

“Of course,” said he, “you know that offences of this magnitude, in all civilized countries, are punished with death. The necessity for a rigid enforcement of this penalty, in a country which has no judiciary, is greater even than in one where these crimes are tried by courts of law. There is no escape for you. We are sorry that you have incurred this penalty,—sorry for you, but the blame is wholly yours.”

Hunter made no reply to the justice in his case, but requested that his friends should not be informed of the manner of his death.

“I have,” said he, “no property to pay the expense of a funeral, and my burial even must depend upon your charity. I hope you will give me a decent one.”

“Every reasonable request shall be granted, Bill,” said the Vigilante; “but you know the ground is too hard for us to attempt your interment without proper implements. We will inform your friends of your execution, and they will attend to your burial.”

While this conversation was going on, some of the Vigilantes had prepared the noose, and passed the rope over a limb of the tree. The criminal shook hands with all, tearfully bidding each “good-bye.” After the rope was adjusted, several of the men took hold of it, and at a given signal, by a rapid pull, ran the prisoner up so suddenly that he died without apparent suffering; yet, strange to say, he reached as if for his pistol, and pantomimically cocked and discharged it, the by-standers stated, six times. The “ruling passion was strong in death.” Leaving the corpse suspended from the tree, the Vigilantes, now that their work was done, hurried homeward at a rapid pace.

Hunter was the last of Plummer’s band that fell into the hands of the Vigilantes. The man was not destitute of redeeming qualities. He often worked hard in the mines for the money he lost at the gaming-table, but in an evil hour he joined Plummer’s gang, and aided in the commission of many infamous crimes. In his personal intercourse he was known to perform many kind acts. He admitted, just before his death, the justice of his sentence. It is believed that in his escape through the pickets at Virginia City he was assisted by some of the Vigilantes, who did not credit his guilt.

The death of Hunter marked the bloody close of the reign of Plummer’s band. He was the last of that terrible organization to fall a victim to Vigilante justice. The retribution, almost Draconic in severity, administered to these daring freebooters had in no respect exceeded the demands of absolute justice. If the many acts I have narrated of their villainies were not sufficient to justify the extreme course pursued in their extermination, surely the unrevealed history, greater in enormity, and stained with the blood of a hundred or more additional victims, must remove all prejudices from the public mind against the voluntary tribunal of the Vigilantes. There was no other remedy. Practically, they had no law, but, if law had existed, it could not have afforded adequate redress. This was proven by the feeling of security consequent upon the destruction of the band. When the robbers were dead the people felt safe, not for themselves alone, but for their pursuits and their property. They could travel without fear. They had a reasonable assurance of safety in the transmission of money to the States, and in the arrival of property over the unguarded route from Salt Lake City. The crack of pistols had ceased, and they could walk the streets without constant exposure to danger. There was an omnipresent spirit of protection, akin to that omnipresent spirit of law which pervaded older civilized communities. Men of criminal instincts were cowed before the majesty of an outraged people’s wrath, and the very thought of crime became a terror to them. Young men who had learned to believe that the roughs were destined to rule, and who, under the influence of that guilty faith, were fast drifting into crime, shrunk appalled before the thorough work of the Vigilantes. Fear, more potent than conscience, forced even the worst of men to observe the requirements of civilized society, and a feeling of comparative security among all classes was the result.

But the work was not all done. A few reckless spirits remained, who, when the excitement was over, forgot the lesson it taught, and returned to their old vocation. The Vigilantes preserved their organization, and, as we shall see in the subsequent pages of this history, meted out the sternest justice to all capital offenders.

This portion of my history would be incomplete did I omit to mention that Smith and Thurmond, the lawyers who had on several prominent occasions defended the bloodiest of the roughs, were both banished. The former of these was a man of remarkable ability in his profession and of correct and generous impulses. To a clear, logical mind, and thorough knowledge of his profession, he added fine powers as an orator; and it was these qualities, more than any sympathy he indulged for his clients, that rendered him obnoxious to public censure and suspicion. After an exile of two years he returned to the Territory, and resumed the practice of law, which he followed with success until his death, which occurred in Helena in 1870. He was greatly lamented by all who knew him.

Thurmond came from the “west side,” with a reputation for being a friend of the roughs,—one not in complicity with them, but upon whom they could always depend for assistance in case of difficulty. After his banishment he went to Salt Lake City, where he associated himself with the Danites, or Destroying Angels of the Mormon Church, whom he tried to induce to follow his leadership in an active crusade against all the members of the Montana Vigilance Committee who might pass through Utah on their way to the States. Failing in this, he afterwards removed to Dallas, Texas, where he became involved in a quarrel with a noted desperado, by whom he was shot and instantly killed.

The administration of justice, and the peace and safety of the people, demanded the banishment of both these men, though many of worse character and more criminal nature but of less influence were permitted to remain.