Vigilantes of Montana - Chapters XXIII-XXVII



CHAPTER XXIII
The Arrest and Execution of Captain J. A. Slade, With a Short Account of 
His Previous Career.

"Some write him hero, some a very knave;
Curses and tears are mingled at his grave." -Anon.

J. A. Slade, or, as he was often called, Captain Slade, was raised in 
Clinton County, Ill., and was a member of a highly respectable family. He 
bore a good character for several years in that place. The acts which have 
given so wide a celebrity to his name were performed especially on the 
Overland Line, of which he was for years an official. Reference to these 
matters will be made in a subsequent part of this chapter.

Captain J. A. Slade came to Virginia City in the spring of 1863. He was a 
man gifted with the power of making money, and when free from the 
influence of alcoholic stimulants, which seemed to reverse his nature, and 
to change a kind-hearted and intelligent gentleman into a reckless demon, 
no man in the Territory had a greater faculty of attracting the favorable 
notice of even strangers, and in spite of the wild lawlessness which 
characterized his frequent spells of intoxication, he had many, very many 
friends whom no commission of crime itself could detach from his personal 
companionship. Another and less desirable class of friends were attracted 
by his very recklessness. There are probably a thousand individuals in the 
West possessing a correct knowledge of the leading incidents of a career 
that terminated. at the gallows, who still speak of Slade as a perfect 
gentleman, and who not only lament his death, but talk in the highest 
terms of his character, and pronounce his execution a murder. One way of 
accounting for the diversity of opinion regarding Slade is sufficiently 
obvious. 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.

During the summer of 1863 he went to Milk River as a freighter. For this 
business he was eminently qualified, and he made a great deal of money. 
Unfortunately his habit of profuse expenditure was uncontrollable, and at 
the time of his execution he was deeply in debt almost everywhere.

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 
from 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 the 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 Vigilanter; 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 crimes were 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 offence 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. One store in Nevada he never 
ventured to enter -that of the Lott Brothers* -as they had taken care to 
let him know that any attempt of the kind would be followed by his sudden 
death, and though he often rode down there, threatening to break in and 
raise, yet he never attempted to carry his threat into execution. 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.

* See Lott's story.

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 out rage. 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 the money; but in the 
transaction, 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 capture; 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 Dorris'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 
me what I mean," was the quiet reply, "get you 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 prostitute in company with those of two men whom he 
considered heads of the Committee, as a sort of challenge; perhaps, 
however, as a single 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 and 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, where the Ohlinghouse stone building now stands.

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, 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. Pfout's 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 
Payout's 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 
peacable 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 you 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 betrayed 
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.

J. A. Slade was, during his connection with the Overland Stage Company, 
frequently involved in quarrels which terminated fatally for his 
antagonists. The first and most memorable of these was his encounter with 
Jules, a station keeper at Julesburg, on the Platte River. Between the 
inhabitants, the emigrants and the stage people, there was a constant 
feud, arising from quarrels about missing stock, alleged to have been 
stolen by the settlers, which constantly resulted in personal difficulties 
such as beating, shooting, stabbing, etc., and it was from this cause that 
Slade became involved in a transaction which has become inseparably 
associated with his name, and which has given a coloring and tone to all 
descriptions of him, from the date of the occurrence to the present day.

There have been so many versions of the affair, all of them differing more 
or less in important particulars, that it has seemed impossible to get at 
the exact truth; but the following account may be relied on as 
substantially correct:

From overlanders and dwellers on the road we learn that Jules was himself 
a lawless aud tyrranical man, taking such liberties with the coach stock 
and carrying matters with so high a hand that the company determined on 
giving the agency of the division to J. A. Slade. In a business point of 
view, they were correct in their selection. The coach went through at all 
hazards. It is not to be supposed that Jules would submit to the authority 
of a newcomer, or, indeed, of any man that he could intimidate; and a very 
limited intercourse was sufficient to increase the mutual dislike of the 
parties, so far as to occasion an open rupture and bloodshed. Slade, it is 
said, had employed a man discharged by Jules, which irritated the latter 
considerably; but the overt act that brought matters to a crisis was the 
recovery by Slade of a team "sequestered" by Jules. Some state that there 
had been a previous altercation between the two; but, whether this be true 
or not, it appears certain that on the arrival of the coach, with Slade as 
a passenger, Jules determined to arrest the team, then and there; and 
that, finding Slade was equally determined on putting them through, a few 
expletives were exchanged, and Jules fired his gun, loaded with buckshot, 
at Slade, who was unarmed at the time, wounding him severely. At his 
death, Slade carried several of these shot in his body. Slade went down 
the road, till he recovered of his wound. Jules left the place, and in his 
travels never failed to let everybody know that he would kill Slade, who, 
on his part, was not backward in reciprocating such promises. At last, 
Slade got well, and shortly after was informed that his enemy had been 
"corralled by the boys," whereupon he went to the place designated, and, 
tying him fast, shot him to death by degrees. He also cut off his ears, 
and carried them in his vest pocket for a long time.

One man declares that Slade went up to the ranch where he had heard that 
Jules was and, "getting the drop on him," that, is to say, covering him 
with his pistol before he was ready to defend himself, he said, "Jules, I 
am going to kill you;" to which the other replied, "Well, I suppose I am 
gone up; you've got me now;" and that Slade immediately opened fire and 
killed him with his revolver.

The first story is the one almost universally believed in the West, and 
the act is considered entirely justifiable by the wild Indian fighters of 
the frontier. Had he simply killed Jules, he would have been justified by 
the accepted Western law of retaliation. The prolonged agony and 
mutilation of his enemy, however, admit of no excuse.

While on the road Slade ruled supreme. He would ride down to the station, 
get into a quarrel, turn the house out of windows, and maltreat the 
occupants most cruelly. The unfortunates had no means of redress, and were 
compelled to recuperate as best they could. On one of these occasions, it 
is said, he killed the father of the fine little half-breed boy, Jemmy, 
whom he adopted, and who lived with his widow atter his execution. He was 
a gentle, well-behaved child, remarkable for his beautiful, soft black 
eyes, and for his polite address.

Sometimes Slade acted as a lyncher. On one occasion, some emigrants had 
their stock either lost or stolen, and told Slade, who happened to visit 
their camp. He rode with a single companion, to a ranch, the owners of 
which he suspected, and opening the door, commenced firing at them, 
killing three and wounding the fourth.

As for minor quarrels and shootings, it is absolutely certain that a 
minute history of Slade's life would be one long record of such practices. 
He was feared a great deal more, generally, than the Almighty, from 
Kearney, west. There was, it seems, something in his bold reckless, lavish 
generosity, and firm attachment to his friends, whose quarrel he would 
back, everywhere and at any time, that endeared him to the wild denizens 
of the prairie, and this personal attachment it is that has cast a veil 
over his faults, so dark that his friends could never see his real 
character, or believe their idol to be a blood-stained desperado.

Stories of his hanging men, and of innumerable assaults, shootings, 
stabbings and beatings, in which he was a principal actor, form part of 
the legends of the stage line; nevertheless, such is the veneration still 
cherished for him by many of the old stagers, that any insult offered to 
his memory would be fearfully and quickly avenged. Whatever he did to 
others, he was their friend, they say; and so they will say and feel till 
the tomb closes over the last of his old friends and comrades of the 
Overland.

It should be stated that Slade was, at the time of his coming West, a 
fugitive from justice in Illinois, where he killed a man with whom he had 
been quarreling. Finding his antagonist to be more than his match, he ran 
away from him, and, in his flight, picking up a stone, he threw it with 
such deadly aim and violence that it penetrated the skull of his pursuer, 
over the eye, and killed him. Johnson, the Sheriff, who pursued him for 
nearly four hundred miles, was in Virginia City not long since, as we have 
been informed by persons who knew him well.

Such was Captain J. A. Slade, the idol of his followers, the terror of his 
enemies and of all that were not within the charmed circle of his 
dependents. In him, generosity and destructiveness, brutal lawlessness and 
courteous kindness, firm friendship and volcanic outbreaks of fury, were 
so mingled that he seems like one born out of date. He should have lived 
in feudal times, and have been the comrade of the Front de Boeuffs, De 
Lacys, and Rois Guilberts, of days almost forgotten. In modern times, he 
stands nearly alone.

The execution of Slade had a most wonderful effect upon society. 
Henceforth, all knew that no one man could domineer or rule over the 
community. Reason and civilization then drove brute force from Montana.

One of his principal friends wisely absconded, and so escaped sharing his 
fate, which would have been a thing almost certain had he remained.

It has often been asked why Slade's friends were permitted to go Scot 
free, seeing that they accompanied him in all his "raids," and both shared 
and defended his wild and lawless exploits. The answer is very simple. The 
Vigilantes deplored the sad but imperative necessity for the making of one 
example. That, they knew, would be sufficient. They were right in their 
judgment, and immovable in their purpose. Could it but be made known how 
many lives were at their mercy, society would wonder at the moderation 
that ruled in their counsels. Necessity was the arbiter of these men's 
fate. When the stern Goddess spoke not, the doom was unpronounced, and the 
criminal remained at large. They acted for the public good, and when 
examples were made, it was because the safety of the community demanded a 
warning to the lawless and the desperate, that might neither be despised 
nor soon forgotten.

The execution of the road agents of Plummer's gang was the result of the 
popular verdict and judgment against robbers and murderers. The death of 
Slade was the protest of society on behalf of social order and the rights 
of man.



CHAPTER XXIV
The Execution of James Brady, for Shooting Murphy, at Nevada.

"Murder most foul and most unnatural. " -Shakespeare.

Early in the summer of 1864, the Committee were called upon to visit the 
stern retribution due to those who wantonly and maliciously attempt to 
assassinate a fellow-creature, upon James Brady, a resident of the Lower 
Town, more generally known as Nevada City. The case was clear, so far as 
the moral guilt of the accused was concerned, as will fully appear from 
the subjoined account of the transaction; but there are not a few who 
measure the extent of guilt by its consequences, and refuse to examine the 
act itself on its own merits. Now, we have always held that a man who 
fires at another, deliberately and with malice prepense, inflicting upon 
him a wound of any kind, is as much a murderer as if the shot had proved 
instantly fatal. The other judgment of the case depends upon the relative 
goodness or badness of ammunition, the efficiency of the weapon, and the 
expertness of the marksman. Hence, to hit the mark is murder; but to aim 
at it, and make rather a wide shot, is manslaughter only. If a ball 
glances on a man's ribs, it is manslaughter; if it goes between them, it 
is murder. This line of argument may satisfy some people; and that it does 
so, we know; at the same time it is not a doctrine that we can endorse, 
being fully convinced of its utter want of foundation, in right reason or 
common sense. Murphy, the victim of Brady's shot, was believed to be 
dying; the physicians declared he could not live many hours, and for this 
crime Brady was executed. Some kind-hearted but weak-headed individuals 
think that the murderer ought to have been spared, because Murphy had a 
strong constitution, and, contrary to all expectations, recovered; but 
what the state of a man's health has to do with the crime of the villain 
who shoots him, will to us forever remain an enigma as difficult as the 
unravelling of the Gordian knot. The proper course, in such eases, seems 
to be, not the untying of the knot aforesaid, but the casting on of 
another, in the shape of a road agent's necktie.

At about eleven p. m., the stillness of the summer's night that had closed 
in upon the citizens of Nevada was broken by two pistol shots fired in 
rapid succession. The executive officer of the Commitee heard the reports, 
as he was retiring to bed; but the sounds were too familiar to a 
mountaineer to attract any special attention, and he lay down at once to 
sleep. In a few minutes, however, he was startled from his quick coming 
slumber by the sudden entrance of a friend who told him to get up, for 
there was a man shot. Hastily dressing himself, he found that an 
individual named Jem Kelly was a prisoner on the charge of being, an 
accomplice in the deed. Who had fired the shots was not known, the man 
having run off with all speed, before he could be arrested. A guard of two 
Vigilantes was left in charge of Kelly, and the officer went quickly to 
Brady's saloon, where he first heard, from bystanders, that they thought 
Brady himself was the criminal, but that he had escaped. The wounded man 
confirmed this statement, and an examination of the premises showed a 
bullet-hole in the window through which the assassin had fired. The second 
shot had been fired from the door-step.

A detail of twelve men were ordered to search the town for Brady, while 
the captain and three others started for Virginia City, with the intention 
of capturing him if he could be found there, or on the road thither. On 
arriving at Central City, they ascertained from a citizen whom they met on 
the street, that a man dressed in black clothes, and otherwise answering 
the description of the fugitive, had passed through, and that he was 
apparently intoxicated. They went on to Virginia, and on arriving there, 
just about midnight, they found that the only house in which a light 
appeared was the Beaver Head saloon, at the corner of Idaho and Jackson 
streets, now John How & Co.'s store.

One of the party knew Brady personally, and on entering he at once 
recognized him in the act of drinking with another man at the bar. The 
captain stepped up and asked, "Is you name Brady?" "Yes," said he. "Then 
you are my prisoner," answered the captain. On his inquiring what was the 
charge against him, he was told that he was arrested for the murder of 
Murphy. The prisoner immediately started offon a loud harangue, but was 
stopped by the captain, who told him to keep quiet, and added, "You will 
have a fair trial in the morning."

Brady was taken down to Nevada by his captors, and confronted with his 
victim, who was lying in his own house. "Murphy," said the captain, "is 
this the man that shot you?" The wounded man fixed his gaze on the 
prisoner, and replied faintly, "It is." The guard then took Brady and 
marched him down town, to the house where Kelly was confined. The two men 
were given into the custody of a strong and well-armed party for the 
night. The death of Murphy was hourly expected by the attending surgeons, 
and all around him.

In the morning, Brady was taken before the Committee, who sat in the 
Adelphi Hall, where they had been convened for that purpose. About fifty 
members were present, and the charge against the prisoner was thoroughly 
investigated. The trial commenced about eleven a. m.

Meanwhile, Kelly had confessed that he had kept bar for Brady on that day, 
and that he knew that there was an old quarrel, and consequently ill 
feeling existed between Brady and Murphy. The commencement of this feud 
dated back as far as the preceding summer. This much of his testimony was 
correct and truthful, and was corroborated by other witnesses. He then 
went on to swear that the first thing he knew about the affray was the 
firing of a shot through the window, followed by the discharge of another 
into the door-step, and before he could see who it was that had done the 
deed, the man had run away.

Brady, at first, pretended that he had shot the wrong man by mistake; but 
he admitted at his trial that he had really aimed and fired the (supposed) 
fatal shot. He said that had he been sober he would not have committed the 
rash act, and he added, that after shooting, he went next door to his 
cabin, and sat there for about five minutes; that he then became uneasy, 
and started for Virginia, flinging his pistol away into the Gulch, on his 
road up. The pistol was found and produced at the trial.

The evidence produced was so entirely conclusive as to admit of no doubt. 
The offence was deliberate and cold-blooded murder, so far as the prisoner 
was concerned, and he believed the same till the moment of his execution. 
Sentence of death by hanging was pronounced.

With regard to Kelly the evidence adduced at the trial had led to some new 
developments concerning his share in the transaction. It was positively 
sworn that he had handed the pistol to Brady, across the bar; and that the 
understanding was that he was to take the assassin's place, inside the 
saloon, leaving him free to act on the outside; that, on receiving the 
pistol, Brady went out with it under his coat, and going into his cabin, 
he remained there for a few minutes, and then, walking to the window he 
fired, with deliberate aim, through the window, without previous words, or 
warning of his intention.

Kelly was sentenced to received fifty lashes on the bare back, which 
punishment he duly received, after the execution.

The prisoner (Brady) sent for W. Y. Pemberton, now practicing law at 
Helena, and requested him to settle his worldly affairs, in legal form. 
Accordingly, that gentleman drew his will, and the necessary deeds for the 
disposal of his property, after which he said that he must have a letter 
written to his daughter. He commenced to dictate it, but the language of 
the epistle reminded him so forcibly of his own wretched condition that he 
was unable to proceed, and covering his face with his hands, he ran to his 
bed, exclaiming, "Oh, my God! finish it yourself." The writer furnishes 
the following note of the letter.

"My Dear Daughter: You will never see me again. In an evil hour, being 
under the control and influence of whiskey, I tried to take the life of my 
fellow-man. I tried to shoot him through a window. He will in all 
probability die -and that at my hands. I cannot say that I should not 
suffer the penalty affixed to the violation of law, I have been arrested, 
tried and sentenced to be hanged by the Vigilance Comimttee. In one short 
hour I will have gone into eternity. It is an awful thought, but it is my 
own fault. By the love I feel for you, in this my dying hour, I entreat 
you to be a good girl. Walk in the ways of the Lord. Keep Heaven, God and 
the interest of your soul before your eyes. I commend and commit you to 
the keeping of God. Pray for my soul. Farewell, forever.
"Your father, JAMES BRADY."

At four o'clock p. m. he was marched from his place of confinement to the 
gallows, escorted by a guard of two hundred men, fully armed. At least 
five thousand persons were present at the execution. The gallows was about 
half a mile east of Nevada, and to save time and expense, a butcher's 
hoist was used for the purpose, a box and plank being rigged for a drop. 
When the rope had been adjusted, and the fatal preparations were all 
completed, he was asked if he wished to say anything to the people. He 
addressed the crowd, telling them that it was the first action of the kind 
that he had done; that he was intoxicated and insane; that he hoped his 
execution would be a warning to others, and that God would have mercy on 
his soul. The trap fell, and James Brady ceased to exist. After hanging 
for half an hour, the corpse was cut down and given to the friends of the 
deceased for burial.

Jem Kelly was present at the execution of his friend, and when all was 
over he was marched by the guard, down to an unfinished house in Nevada. 
Here a halt was called, and the necessary arrangements for the whipping 
were quickly made. Being asked to take off his shirt, he said, "the shirt, 
leave it on;" but on being told that it would be spoiled, he removed it. 
The culprit's hands were now tied together, and made fast to a beam over 
head; after which five men inflicted the punishment, each giving ten 
lashes with a raw-hide. Kelly showed no fortitude whatever, roaring and 
screaming at every lash of the hide. At the termination of the flogging he 
remarked, "Boys, if I hadn't been so fat, I should have died sure." Nevada 
was no home for this low-minded villain, who left with all speed; and 
resuming the career most congenial to a man as fond as he was of gold 
without labor, and horses without purchase, he came to the same end as his 
companion, Brady; but there was this difference between them -Kelly was a 
thief and murderer by trade; Brady was an honest man, and had never before 
ventured into the path of crime. Many felt sorry for his fate; but the old 
miners who heard of Kelly's execution shrugged their shoulders and 
muttered, "Served him right; he ought to have gone up long ago; I don't 
believe in whipping and banishing; if a fellow ain't fit to live here, he 
ain't fit to live nowhere by thunder -that's so, you bet your life." etc., 
etc., which terse and technical series of interjectional syllogisms 
contain more good practical common sense than many a half-bound folio, 
embodying the result of the labors of many a charter-granting plunder-
seeking body, humorously styled a "Legislature," west of "the River."



CHAPTER XXV
The Snake River Scout -Capture and Execution of Jem Kelly.

"The pitcher that went often to the well was broken at last." -Irish 
Proverb.

In the month of July, 1864, the coach going from Virginia to Salt Lake was 
robbed, and a large booty in gold dust was the reward of the road agents. 
This was no sooner reported to the Committee than prompt measures were 
taken to pursue the perpetrators of the crime.

A party of twenty-one of the old veterans who had hunted down Plummer's 
band left Nevada, on Sunday, the 28th day of August, and camped at 
William's Ranch for the night. On Monday the party rode all day, never 
halting from breakfast time till evening. The rain fell in torrents, 
rendering cooking impossible; so a hard bite was all that was available, 
and each man coiled. himself up in his blanket with his saddle for a 
pillow, and growled himself to sleep as best he could. Four guards came 
into camp with the stock at daylight; whereupon the troop saddled up, 
without taking breakfast, every one of the "crowd" being at the same time 
wet, "dry," hungry and saucy. One of the boys had managed to bring along a 
bottle of (contraband) whiskey, as he said, in case of snake-bites; but, 
under the circumstances, as far as can be ascertained, no one refused a 
mouthful of the aqua vitae. They had forgotten the "weights and measures" 
of their school days, and at that camp, it was found that there were no 
scruples to a dram. As one of the party observed, it was "big medicine, 
you bet." A ride in the wet of fifteen miles brought them to Joe Patte's 
and breakfast, which latter being despatched, and the former having 
received their adieux, the "boot and saddle" once more sounded, and they 
proceeded on their journey, changing horses at the Canyon Station, and 
finally halting on the banks of Medicine Lodge Creek, in the midst of a 
heavy rain storm, without shelter.

In the morning everybody felt wet, of course, and unamiable, probably; but 
as "business is business" when Montana Vigilantes are afoot, nothing 
objectionable to morality was offered, except an odd oath, caused by a 
stiff-legged cayuse, or a refractory buckle, which, it is charitably 
hoped, the rain washed from the record. The probabilities favor the 
supposition, if the angel made the entry in his book on the banks of that 
creek. If not, provided he was a good angel, he took no notes till after 
breakfast, and dinner, at Camos Creek, had somewhat soothed and modified 
the water-soaked but irrepressible rangers.

Saddling up once more, the party loped along a little more cheerfully, 
reaching Snake River at ten p. m., where they, "their wearied limbs to 
rest," lay down -in a haystack.

After breakfast they turned their horses' heads down stream, and camped in 
the sage brush, without water, and with poor feed for stock. The 
Vigilantes were supperless. On Friday they borrowed the necessary 
"batterie de cuisine" from the Overland station, and cooked their 
breakfast, after which they rode to Meek and Gibbon's Ferry, where they 
camped, and turned out the stock in Fort Hall bottom.

A suspicious character having entered the camp, two of the boys tracked 
him to his own "lodging on the cold ground;" finding however, that there 
was no evidence of anything wrong about his halting-place, they returned.

At the Ferry the Vigilantes met an old friend -a brother of the early days 
of '63-4. He was freighting poultry and hogs to Virginia from Salt Lake 
City. Glad to see his old comrades on their righteous errand, he presented 
them with a thirty-pound pig. A family of Morrisites living in a cabin at 
the Ferry cooked it for them, and it was consumed with immense zest. Here 
they learned that Jem Kelly had boarded in the house, and, on being asked 
to pay, he had threatened to whip the old man. He said that he had a 
partner coming from Salt Lake, and that when he arrived he should have a 
plenty of money. He also intimated to one of the men living there that his 
partner was one of the men who robbed Hughes, when a passenger in the 
coach. Kelly also said that there was a big camp of emigrants, with a lot 
of mules, near there, on their way to Oregon. He proposed that they should 
stampede the stock, and that if the men offered a large enough reward, 
they should return them; but if not, they would drive them off and sell 
them. The man refused to have any hand in the matter, and was travelling 
towards the Butte, to buy some lame cattle from the emigrants, when Kelly, 
who started with him, fell behind, and drawing a pistol presented it at 
him. The man turned at once, and Kelly, who saw something that scared him 
in the expression of the man's eye, had not nerve to shoot, though he 
wanted his money. He therefore turned it off as a joke.

The man failed to purchase the cattle and. returned. Kelly, who had parted 
from him, came in some time during the next day, bringing with him a 
horse, saddle and birdle. The emigrants had this horse to drive loose 
stock, and, as is usual with animals so trained, he followed the wagons, 
picking up his own living. One day he lagged behind, and they went back 
for him. It is supposed Kelly watched them from behind the crest of a 
hill, and catching the horse rode off with him.

A party of ten men, with a captain, were sent to scout on the Portneuf 
Creek, and were mounted on the best animals. They went to Junction 
Station, Fort Hall, where the overland boys shod the horses for them. From 
that place they rode to Portneuf. The squad made a night march, and camped 
at eleven p. m., without feed for man or beast, during a hurricane of 
wind. Oliver's coach went by, and when the driver spied the horses, he 
thought of robbers, and the passengers looked mightily scared. They drove 
by on a keen run, much to the amusement of the boys, who saddled up at two 
o'clock a. m. The men had no bedding and no "grub." The culinary furniture 
was a tin cup, in each man's belt, and a good set of teeth. They started 
at two o'clock a. m., because the stock was so hungry and restless. They 
kept a bright lookout for Kelly.

At daybreak the saw a camp-fire. They rode up thinking of good times, but 
found only a lot of Shoshone Indians, who had little but choke-cherries to 
eat. The chief shortly after came to the captain, and offered him a 
broiled trout, which he ate and then fell asleep, while the others were 
regaling themselves on choke-cherries, supplied by little naked papooses. 
An old squaw seeing the leader asleep when the sun rose, built a willow 
wigwam over him, and when he awoke, he seemed considerably exorcised at 
the sight of his house, which seemed like Jonah'a gourd. This was too much 
for both boys and the Indians, and they laughed heartily.

The detachment saddled up and went on to Portneuf, where they ordered 
breakfast at eleven a. m. at Oliver's Station. Here they learned that a 
party of California prospectors, ten in number, all dressed in buckskin, 
had caught Kelly, in a haystack. He had another horse by this time (he had 
sold one at the ferry). The party went back for two and a half miles, on 
Sunday morning.

The captain was ahead, scouting with one of the boys, and found the dead 
body of a man floating in the creek. There was a shot wound through the 
back of the head. The corpse was wrapped in a grey blanket, with a four 
strand lariat around. the neck and shoulders, as though the body had been 
dragged and sunk. There were two camp fires near, which seemed to be ten 
or fifteen days old. They were situated in a thicket of willows. There was 
a large boulder at the bottom of the eddy, where there was no current, and 
the men thought that the body had been tied to it, but that it had broken 
loose and floated.

The Vigilantes went back, got a pick and shovel, and buried him. The body 
was dreadfully decomposed, and it was both difficult and disgusting to 
raise it; however, they consulted, and slipping willows under it, they 
reached over, and joining the tops, lifted out altogether, and laid the 
putrified remains in their willow grave. Willows were placed below and 
around them, and having covered them with earth and stone, they, getting a 
tailboard from a pilgrim's wagon, wrote an inscription, stating his 
finding by the Vigilantes, and the date of his burial. The men then jumped 
into the saddle, and rode until after night, coming up with a freight 
train for Virginia, camped on the road. The captain told his story, 
whereupon the wagon boss ordered them a good warm drink and a hearty 
supper, sending his herder to look after the stock. The command slept 
soundly till daylight, and then rode twenty-five miles to the ferry, to 
breakfast. They found the main body still camped there, and they were glad 
to see the California buckskin-rangers, and Jem Kelly in custody.

A trial was called, and the evidence being heard, Kelly was unanimously 
condemned to death. While pinioned, he asked for his pipe, and got a 
smoke, which he seemed to enjoy very much. A knot was tied and greased, 
and when all was working right, the party marched down to a Balm of Gilead 
tree, and, in presence of the prisoner, rigged a scaffold by cutting a 
notch into the tree, and putting one end of a plank from a pilgrim wagon 
into the notch, and supporting the other on a forked stick. The captain 
asked Kelly if he had anything to say. He answered that if he had never 
drunk any whiskey he would have been a better man. He said it was hard to 
hang him after whipping him. While he was on the trap, a couple of 
Shoshone warriors came up, and looked on with evident amazement. When the 
plank was knocked from under him, the Indians gave a loud "Ugh!" and 
started at full speed for their camp. After he had hung some fifteen 
minutes, the buckskins party came up, and having made some inquiries, they 
helped to bury him in a willow coffin. The Vigilantes then returned home 
without any further incident of travel worth recording.



CHAPTER XXVI
Arrest and Execution of John Dolan, Alias John Coyle, Alias "Hard Hat," 
for Robbing James Brady of $700 in Gold.

"As the stout fox, on thieving errand caught,
Silent he dies, nor hopes nor cares for aught,"-Anonymous.

Late in the month of August, 1864, a man named James Brady, of Nevada, was 
robbed of $700 in gold by John Dolan, alias John Coyle, alias "Hard Hat," 
who had been living with him, and took the money from his trousers' 
pocket. For some time the real thief remained unsuspected. He cunningly 
overed to assist in the search, and treated Brady out of the money; but 
suspicion being aroused by his sudden disappearance, pursuit was made in 
the direction of Utah. John McGrath followed him to Salt Lake City, and 
there found that he had changed his name to John Coyle, and that he had 
gone on to Springville, whither his pursuer followed and arrested him. 
Dolan stipulated that he should be preserved from the Vigilantes, on the 
road home, which was agreed to, and McGrath and his prisoner arrived at 
Nevada on the 16th of September. In the mean time, letters had been 
received from parties ignorant of his transaction, informing the Committee 
that Dolan was a pal of Jem Kelly, who was hanged at Snake River; and 
evidence of his complicity with the road agents was also satisfactorily 
adduced. He was the spy who "planted" the robbery of Hughes in the Salt 
hake coach. It is nearly certain that the reason he fled to Utah was that 
he might receive his share of the plunder.

After a patient and lengthened trial, his guilt being perfectly clear, he 
was condemned to be executed by a unanimous vote of the committee. Three 
hundred dollars of the lost money was recovered, and, though Dolan at 
first denied his guilt, yet the production of peculiar nuggets being 
irresistible evidence, he at last confessed the crime and offered to make 
up the balance, if he should be let go. This could not be acceded to, and, 
therefore, the Committee made good the amount lost by their refusal to 
Brady.

It was on Saturday evening, September 17th, that the execution of Dolan 
took place, and a' scene more fraught with warning to the desperate never 
was enacted before the gaze of assembled thousands.

About sundown, strong parties of Vigilantes from Highland, Pine Grove and 
Virginia, joined the armed force already on the ground belonging to Nevada 
and Junction. The prisoner was confined in the ball-room, next door to the 
Jaokson house, and here he was pinioned before being brought out. The 
companies from Virginia, armed to the teeth, formed in two parallel lines, 
enclosing an avenue reaching from the door through which the prisoner must 
make his exit, on his way to the scaffold. The silence and the sternly 
compressed lips of the guard showed that they felt the solemnity of the 
occasion, and that they were prepared to repulse, with instant and deadly 
action, any attempt at the rescue threatened by the prisoner's companions 
in crime and sympathizers. All being ready a small posse of trust-worthy 
men were detailed as a close guard in front, rear and on both Banks of the 
prisoner. The signal being given, the commander of the guard gave the 
word, "Company! draw revolvers!" A moment more and the weapons, ready for 
instant use, were held at the Vigilantes' "ready," that is to say, in 
front of the body, the right hand level with the center of the breast, 
muzzle up, thumb on the cock, and the forefinger extended alongside the 
trigger-guard.

"Right face! Forward, march!" followed in quick succession, and, 
immediately the procession was fairly in motion, the files of the guard 
were doubled. In close order they marched through a dense crowd to the 
gallows, a butcher's hoist standing in the plain, at the foot of the 
hills, about half a mile northeast of Nevada, where a fatigue party and 
guard had made the necessary preparations for the execution. The multitude 
must have considerably exceeded six thousand in number, every available 
spot of ground being densely packed with spectators. The face of the hill 
was alive with a throng of eager and excited people. The column of 
Vigilantes marched steadily and in perfect silence through the gathering 
masses, right up to the gallows. Here they were halted and, at a given 
signal, the lines first opened and then formed in a circle of about fifty 
yards in diameter, with an interval of about six feet between the ranks, 
and facing the crowd, which slowly fell back before them, till the force 
was in position.

Renewed threats of an attempt at rescue having been made, the word was 
passed round the ranks, and the guard, in momentary expectation of a rush 
from the anti-law-and-order men, stood ready to beat them back. The 
prisoner, who exhibited a stolid indifference and utter unconcern most 
remarkable to witness, was placed standing, on a board supported in such a 
manner that a touch of a foot was all that was necessary to convert it 
into a drop.

The executive officer then addressed the crowd, stating that the execution 
of criminals such as Dolan was a matter of public necessity, in a mining 
country, and that the safety of the community from lawlessness and outrage 
was the only reason that dictated it. He raised his voice, and finished by 
saying, in a manner that all understood, "It has been said that you will 
rescue the prisoner; don't try it, for fear of the consequences. What is 
to be done has been deliberately weighed and determined, and nothing shall 
prevent the execution of the malefactor."

Dolan being now asked if he had anything to say, he replied in a, voice 
perfectly calm, clear and unconcerned, that he admitted having committed 
the crime with which he was charged; but he said that he was drunk when he 
did it. He added that he was well known in California and elsewhere, and 
had never been accused of a similar action before. He then bade them all 
good-by, and requested that some of his friends would bury his body. The 
rope was placed round his neck; the plank was struck from beneath his 
feet, and the corpse swayed to and fro in the night breeze. He never made 
a perceptible struggle. The dull sound of the drop was followed, or rather 
accompanied, by the stern order to the crowd, repeated by one hundred 
voices, "Fall back!" The glancing barrels and clicking locks of five 
hundred revolvers, as they came to the present, sounded their deadly 
warning, and the crowd, suddenly seized with a wild panic, fled, shrieking 
in mad terror, and rolling in heaps over one another. A wagon and team 
were drawn up outside the circle held by the Vigilantes, but such was the 
tremendous stampede, that, taking them broadside, they rolled over before 
the onslaught of the mob, like ninepins, and over wagon and struggling 
mules poured a living torrent of people. Fortunately no great injury was 
done to any one, and they gradually returned to the vicinity of the 
scaffold. As the rush was made, the hill appeared to be moving, the 
simultaneous motion of the multitude giving it that appearance.

Just before the drop fell, one of the guard, who had newly arrived in the 
country, being pressed on by a tall, swarthy-looking reprobate, ordered 
him back, dropping his revolver level with his breast at the same instant. 
The villain quickly thrust his hand into his bosom, and the butt of a 
pistol was instantly visible within his grasp. "I say, you sir!" observed 
the guard, "just move your arm a couple of inches or so, will you? I want 
to hit that big white button on your coat." "H---l!" ejaculated the 
worthy, retiring with the rapidity of chain lightning among the crowd.

The people were then addressed by a gentleman of Nevada, who forcibly 
showed to them the necessity of such examples as the present. He reminded 
them that nothing but severe and summary punishment would be of any avail 
to prevent crime, in a place where life and gold were so much exposed. The 
prisoner had declared that he was drunk; but he had offered to return the 
money, though only in case he would be pardoned. This offer a due regard 
for the safety of the community forbade their accepting.

Dolan having been pronounced dead by several physicians, the body was 
given into the care of his friends; the Vigilantes marched off by 
companies, and the crowd dispersed. There was a solemnity and decorum 
about the proceedings of the Vigilantes that all admired.

Before leaving the ground, a subscription was opened on behalf of the man 
whose money had been stolen, and the whole sum missing ($400) was paid to 
him by the Committee. This was an act of scrupulous honesty, probably 
never before paralleled in any citizens' court in the world.



CHAPTER XXVII
Capture and Execution of R. C. Rawley.

"Justice is blind; but she has a long memory and a strong arm." -Proverb.

Since the execution of Plummer, Ray, Stinson, Pizanthia and Wagner, there 
had been no execution in Bannack. The example had been sufficient, and, 
though it could not be said that there was no crime in Bannack, yet the 
change from the wild lawlessness of the roughs, and the reign of terror 
caused by the presence of Plummer and his satellites, was most 
encouraging. Scores of men silently and quickly left Bannack for other 
regions. The dread of the "Vigilantes" was strongly impressed on every 
person, and though it is not easy to suppose that the nature of the 
desperadoes can be materially changed, yet it is tolerably certain, to 
those who have witnessed the effect of what the heralds would call "a 
noose pendent from a beam proper" -that men of the worst morals and most 
unquestioned bravery -men whom nothing else could daunt -still maintains a 
quietness of demeanor that, under any other circumstances than the fear of 
retribution by the halter, would surely be foreign to their very nature.

Among those who dreaded the arrival of the day of vengeance was a man 
passing by the assumed name of R. C. Rawley. He was no common loafer, 
originally; but was, under another name and with a fairer character, a 
merchant in a large Western city, from which, owing to what precise 
discreditable cause we are uninformed authentically, he migrated to 
Colorado, and there gradually sank down to the character and standard of a 
"bummer." It was evident to all who knew him that he was a man of 
education and of some refinement; occasionally remarks made in his sober 
moments attested this, but a long course of brutal dissipation had 
rendered his acquirements worthless, and had so debased his morals, that 
he associated only with the thieves and marauders whose guilty career 
terminated, as these pages have shown, upon the gallows. Robbed of all 
self-respect, and even ambition, R. C. Rawley, on his arrival in this 
country, attached himself as a hanger-on to the road agents, and was the 
constant tool and companion of Stinson, Forbes, Lyons and their 
associates. He sometimes seemed to become ashamed of his conduct, and 
worked for short periods, honestly earning his living; but such spells of 
good conduct were only occasional. He returned, uniformly, to his old 
habits, "like the sow that is washed to her wallowing in the mire." Rawley 
was a good-looking man, and, but for his habit of intoxication, he must 
have been handsome.

In the winter of 1863-4, Rawley, though not closely identified with the 
band, yet bore a suspicious character, owing to his connection and 
association with them. He was seldom, indeed, on the road; but he acted as 
an inside spy. As soon as the first blow was struck at the road agents, he 
became nervous and excited in his demeanor, and, warned by the promptings 
of a guilty conscience, he suddenly left Bannack, on a winter's morning of 
such severity that nothing but the belief that detection and punishment 
awaited him could have justified a sane man in undertaking a journey of 
any considerable length. He was popularly supposed to have gone south or 
to Boise.

In an ill-starred hour, in the month of September, 1864, unexpectedly to 
most people, but with the knowledge of the Vigilantes, who had kept track 
of his movements, he suddenly returned to Bannack, thinking, doubtless, 
that all danger was past. He came back in rags, to find all his old 
friends gone, and looked like a lone chicken on a wet day. For some time 
after his return he kept quiet, and went to work for a man who lived down 
the canyon, in the neighborhood of New Jerusalem. Those who knew him state 
that when he was sober, although he was not a firstclass workman, yet he 
labored steadily and well; but, as may be conjectured, his frequent visits 
to Bannack, which always involved a spree of drunkenness, greatly impaired 
his usefulness.

During the time when he was under influence of strong drink his old 
predilections were brought prominently forward, and he did not hesitate to 
utter threats of an unmistakable kind against the members of the 
Committee; and also to express his sympathy and identification of interest 
with the men who had been hanged, stating that they were good men, and the 
Committee were----strangling------, etc. This kind of conduct was allowed 
to remain unpunished for some six weeks or two months; but, as Rawley 
began to get bolder and to defy the Committee, it was resolved that an end 
should be put to such proceedings.

A meeting of the Vigilantes was called, and it was determined that his 
case should be thoroughly investigated. This was done, and, during the 
trial, evidence of a most convincing kind was adduced, of his actual 
complicity in the outrages perpetrated by the band, of his being a spy for 
them, and of his pointing out favorable opportunities for the commission 
of robbery. As his present line of action and speech left no doubt that he 
would connect himself with some new gang of thieves, and as it was more 
than suspected that such an organization was contemplated, it was 
determined to put a sudden end to all such doings, by making an example of 
Rawley.

A party was detailed for the work, and going down unobserved and 
unsuspected to New Jerusalem, they arrested him at night and brought him 
up to Bannack, without the knowledge of a single soul except his actual 
captors. As it was deemed necessary for the safety of society that a 
sudden punishment should be meted out to him in such a manner that the 
news should fall upon the ears of his associates in crime like a 
thunderbolt from a clear sky, he was taken to Hangman's Gulch, and, 
maintaining the most dogged silence and the most imperturable coolness to 
the last moment, he was hanged on the same gallows which Plummer himself 
had built for the execution of his own accomplice, Horan, and on which he 
himself had suffered.

The first intelligence concerning his fate was obtained from the sight of 
his dead body, swinging in the wind on the following morning. Before his 
corpse was taken down for burial, a photographic artist took a picture of 
the scene, preserving the only optical demonstration extant of the reward 
of crime in Montana.

Thus died R. C. Rawley. A "passenger" or two attended his final march to 
the grave, and shrouded in the rayless gloom of a night as dark as 
despair, thus perished, unshrived and unknelled, the last of the tribe of 
spies, cut-throats and desperadoes, who, in the early days of Bannack, had 
wrought such horrors in the community.

The effect of the execution was magical. Not another step was taken to 
organize crime in Bannack, and it has remained in comparative peace and 
perfect security ever since.