Gold Part 44

CHAPTER x.x.xVI

THE RULE OF THE LAWLESS

No concerted attempt was made by the roughs to avenge the execution of their comrades. Whether they realized that such an attempt would be likely to solidify the decent element, or whether that sort of warfare was not their habit, the afternoon and night wore away without trouble.

"Danger's over," announced Johnny the following morning.

"What next?" I asked.

"We'll go up to town," said Johnny.

This they proceeded to do, negativing absolutely my desire to accompany them.

"You stay out of this," said Johnny. "Go and wash gold as usual."

I was immensely relieved that afternoon when they returned safe and sound. Afterward I heard that they had coolly visited every saloon and gambling place, had stopped in each to chat with the barkeepers and gamblers, had spent the morning seated outside the Bella Union, and had been in no manner molested.

"They'll be all right as long as they stick together and keep in the open," Yank a.s.sured me. "That gang will sooner a.s.sa.s.sinate than fight."

Although for the moment held in check by the resolute front presented by these three boys, the rough element showed that it considered it had won a great victory, and was now ent.i.tled to run the town. Members of the gang selected what goods they needed at any of the stores, making no pretence of payment. They swaggered boldly about the streets at all times, infested the better places such as the Bella Union, elbowed aside insolently any inoffensive citizen who might be in their way, and generally conducted themselves as though they owned the place. Robberies grew more frequent. The freighters were held up in broad daylight; rumours of returning miners being relieved of their dust drifted up from the lower country; mysterious disappearances increased in number. Hardly an attempt was made to conceal the fact that the organized gang that conducted these operations had its headquarters at Italian Bar. Strange men rode up in broad daylight, covered with red dust, to confer with Morton or one of the other resident blackguards. Mysteriously every desperado in the place began to lay fifty-dollar octagonal slugs on the gaming tables, product of some lower country atrocity.

The camp soon had a concrete ill.u.s.tration of the opinion the roughs held of themselves. It was reported quietly among a few of us that several of our number had been "marked" by the desperadoes. Two of these were Joe Thompson, who had acted as counsel for the prosecution in the late trial, and Tom Cleveland, who had presided, and presided well, over the court. Thompson kept one of the stores, while Cleveland was proprietor of the butcher shop. No overt threats were made, but we understood that somehow these men were to be put out of the way. Of course they were at once warned.

The human mind is certainly a queer piece of mechanism. It would seem that the most natural thing to have done, in the circ.u.mstances, would have been to dog these men's footsteps until an opportunity offered to a.s.sa.s.sinate them quietly. That is just what would have been done had the intended victims been less prominently in the public eye. The murder of court officials, however, was a very different matter from the finding of an unknown miner dead in his camp or along the trail. In the former case there could be no manner of doubt as to the perpetrators of the deed--the animus was too directly to be traced. And it is a matter for curious remark that in all early history, whether of California in the forties, or of Montana in the bloodier sixties, the desperadoes, no matter how strong they felt themselves or how arrogantly they ran the community, nevertheless must have felt a great uncertainty as to the actual power of the decent element. This is evidenced by the fact that they never worked openly. Though the ident.i.ty of each of them as a robber and cut-throat was a matter of common knowledge, so that any miner could have made out a list of the members of any band, the fact was never formally admitted. And as long as it was not admitted, and as long as actual hard proof was lacking, it seemed to be part of the game that nothing could be done. Moral certainties did not count until some series of outrages resulted in mob action.

Now consider this situation, which seemed to me then as it seems to me now, most absurd in every way. n.o.body else considered it so. Everybody knew that the rough element was out to "get" Thompson and Cleveland.

Everybody, including both Thompson and Cleveland themselves, was pretty certain that they would not be quietly a.s.sa.s.sinated, the argument in that case being that the deed would be too apt to raise the community.

Therefore it was pretty well understood that some sort of a quarrel or personal encounter would be used as an excuse. Personally I could not see that that would make much essential difference; but, as I said, the human mind is a curious piece of mechanism.

Among the occasional visitors to the camp was a man who called himself Harry Crawford. He was a man of perhaps twenty-five years, tall, rather slender, with a clear face and laughing blue eyes. Nothing in his appearance indicated the desperado; and yet we had long known him as one of the Morton gang. This man now took up his residence in camp; and we soon discovered that he was evidently the killer. The first afternoon he picked some sort of a petty quarrel with Thompson over a purchase, but cooled down instantly when unexpectedly confronted by a half dozen miners who came in at the opportune moment. A few days afterward in the slack time of the afternoon Thompson, while drinking at the bar of the Empire and conversing with a friend, was approached by a well-known sodden hanger-on of the saloons.

"What 'n h.e.l.l you fellows talking about?" demanded this man impudently.

"None of your business," replied Thompson impatiently, for the man was a public nuisance, and besides was deep in Thompson's debt.

The man broke into foul oaths.

"I'll dare you to fight!" he cried in a furious pa.s.sion.

Facing about, Thompson saw Crawford standing attentively among the listeners, and instantly comprehended the situation.

"You have the odds of me with a pistol," said Thompson, who notoriously had no skill with that weapon. "Why should I fight you?"

"Well, then," cried the man, "put up your fists; that'll show who is the best man!"

He s.n.a.t.c.hed off his belt and laid it on the bar. Thompson did the same.

"Come on!" cried the challenger, backing away.

Thompson, thoroughly angry, reached over and slapped his antagonist. The latter promptly drew another revolver from beneath his coat, but before he could aim it Thompson jumped at his throat and disarmed him. At this moment Crawford interfered, apparently as peacemaker. Thompson was later told secretly by the barkeeper that the scheme was to lure him into a pistol fight in the street, when Crawford would be ready to shoot him as soon as the first shot was fired.

On the strength of his interference Crawford next pretended to friends.h.i.+p, and spent much of his time at Thompson's store. Thompson was in no way deceived. This state of affairs continued for two days. It terminated in the following manner: Crawford, sitting half on the counter, and talking with all the great charm of which he was master, led the subject to weapons.

"This revolver of mine," said he, at the same time drawing the weapon from its holster, "is one of the old navy model. You don't often see them nowadays. It has a double lock." He c.o.c.ked it as though to ill.u.s.trate his point, and the muzzle, as though by accident, swept toward the other man. He looked up from his affected close examination to find that Thompson had also drawn his weapon and that the barrel was pointing uncompromisingly in his direction.

For a moment the two stared each other in the eye. Then Crawford sheathed his pistol with an oath.

"What do you mean by that?" he cried.

"I mean," said Thompson firmly, "that I do not intend you shall get the advantage of me. You know my opinion of you and your gang. I shall not be shot by any of you, if I can help it."

Crawford withdrew quietly, but later in the day approached a big group of us, one of which was Thompson.

"There's a matter between you and me has got to be settled!" he cried.

"Well, I can't imagine what it is," replied Thompson. "I'm not aware that I've said or done anything to you that needs settlement."

"You needn't laugh!" replied Crawford, with a string of insulting oaths.

"You're a coward; and if you're anything of a man you will step out of doors and have this out."

"I am, as you say, a coward," replied Thompson quietly, "and I see no reason for going out of doors to fight you or anybody else."

After bl.u.s.tering and swearing for a few moments Crawford withdrew. He made no attempt to fight, nor do I believe his outburst had any other purpose than to establish the purely personal character of the quarrel between Thompson and himself. At any rate, Thompson was next morning found murdered in his bunk, while Crawford had disappeared. I do not know whether Crawford had killed him or not; I think not.

About this time formal printed notices of some sort of election were posted on the bulletin board at Morton's place. At least they were said to have been posted, and were pointed out to all comers the day after election. Perhaps they were there all the time, as claimed, but n.o.body paid much attention to them. At any rate, we one day awoke to the fact that we were a full-fledged community, with regularly const.i.tuted court officers, duly qualified officials, and a sheriff. The sheriff was Morton, and the most worthy judges were other members of his gang!

This move tickled Danny Randall's sense of humour immensely.

"That's good head work," he said approvingly. "I didn't think Morton had it in him."

"It's time something was done to run that gang out of town," fumed Dr.

Rankin.

"No; it is not time," denied Danny, "any more than it was time when you and Johnny and the rest of you had your celebrated jury trial."

"I'd like to know what you are driving at!" fretted the worthy doctor.

Danny Randall laughed in his gentle little fas.h.i.+on. I will confess that just at that time I was very decidedly wondering what Danny Randall was at. In fact, at moments I was strongly inclined to doubt his affiliations. He seemed to stand in an absolutely neutral position, inclining to neither side.

Tom Cleveland was killed in the open street by one of the Empire hangers-on. The man was promptly arrested by Morton in his capacity of sheriff, and confined in chains. Morton, as sheriff, selected those who were to serve on the jury. I had the curiosity to attend the trial, expecting to a.s.sist at an uproarious farce. All the proceedings, on the contrary, were conducted with the greatest decorum, and with minute attention to legal formalities. The a.s.sa.s.sin, however, was acquitted.

From that time the outrages increased in number and in boldness. No man known to be possessed of any quant.i.ty of gold was safe. It was dangerous to walk alone after dark, to hunt alone in the mountains, to live alone.

Every man carried his treasure about with him everywhere he went. No man dared raise his voice in criticism of the ruling powers, for it was pretty generally understood that such criticism meant death.