W. B. Carter Story.
We got to Bannack just about the time that the people were going, or when some had gone to Alder. We arrived in Alder, July 4th, 1863, and got a job working on night shift. I was broke. No, I had six large copper cents. I sold them to a jeweler for seventy-five cents each. (I presume that this was the first transaction in copper in Montana.)
I worked there that season and then went to Salt Lake City, bought an ox outfit, loaded up with provisions, and brought them back to Virginia City, where I sold the outfit to a good advantage. In January a party of 25 men and one woman left Virginia for SaltLake with a mule outfit. The train with our blankets in one of the wagons went on ahead of us. As soon as my partner and I got settled up we started for camp. One of us had a gun, the other a revolver, and we traveled about 150 feet apart so no one could surprise us. The next morning Club-Foot Mathews found his mules missing, but we pulled out and came to the place right where my ranch house now stands, about five miles north of Dillon, and camped for the night. Mathews found his mules and started to overtake us, when, just on the other side of the Point cf Rocks, he saw some fellows coming towards him on horse back. Not liking the looks of things he threw his gold sacks into the snow, marking the place well, then he pulled into the station, where he stayed all night, being afraid to go on. He hired a man to keep on the left side of the river and overtake us, and get one of us to send a team back and help him get his dust. The party he sent got to our camp about midnight. The next morning one of the boys went back to help him, while the balance moved to a place since owned by Jim Selway, where we waited until they could overtake us.
Shortly after they had joined us, we saw three men coming to our camp on horseback. One of those men was Buck Stinson, and the other was Red -- or Ned Ray -- do not know for sure; the third man was one well-known to all of us (House), and only came to our camp, as Stinson a deputy of Plummer's did not care to come, as his mission was to arrest "Club-Foot" for debt. "Club-Foot" said that it was a just debt, and that he would like to get greenbacks enough from us to give to Buck, so he would know he was all right. We soon got the money and gave it to him. Alex Toponce wanted us to take Buck and hang him at once, but of course, we could not agree to that. "Club-Foot" started out with the two deputies, on foot, as he was afraid they might kill him and take his mule. They pulled off over the hill, toward Rattlesnake crossing, and only a short time after leaving us they saw the men coming from toward Virginia City. Stinson and his friend pulled out and left ''Club-Foot" alone. He continued on into Bannack and found Buck, who turned the money over to him. He settled his accounts and overtook us down on the Snake River. Buck was hung on the 10th, just a few days after he was at our camp.
We certainly had a fearful trip, and how we ever made it I do not know. When we got to, or near, the Robber's Roost, in the PortNeufCanyon, we were compelled to leave our wagons on account of the deep snow. It was actually so deep that the mules could not find feed, and they had eaten all the top of the wagonbeds off .We had to go through the MaladValley. The snow was so badly crusted the mules could not break a trail; it was up to the men. Alex Toponce and I, being the most able, took the lead, bracing one another. We did some mighty hard work. It was surely rough on those poor mules. They could only get what we could furnish them, and that was willows or any shrub that we could cut and take to them. We managed to save all of them.
We were certainly up against it ourselves, for food. We had only put in a supply to last us, if we were fortunate in getting down in a reasonable time, but three days before we got to the settlement we were completely out of all except a little parched coffee, which we ate.
When we got to RearRiver the mules made a break for the willows, down a steep hill, and we could not stop them. My partner and myself made up our minds not to go down that steep hill, but would try and get to a settlement. I had been over the road two or three times that season when the snow was off, so we made a start. All the gulches were so full of snow that we could only pass them by going around. Near the banks of the river the snow was not deep, so we kept as near that as possible. At last I made up my mind to cross the river and strike out for a high mountain, the outlines of which were visible in the moonlight. we crossed the river, but actually did not knew where. As I was evading along, all at once I struck my shins against some hard substance. I got down, felt of the place, and found that some one had gone along there with a sled, when the snow was soft, and the track had frozen solid. We certainly felt much relieved I said: "We are all right now, and will make it." Sometime before morning we came to a cabin. I went up and knocked, and when the owner asked who was there, I, with my mouth close to the crack, replied that we were starving, and had traveled for two days without sitting down. He informed us he would soon dress, and he did, and let us in.
In one corner was a curtained bed, which indicated the man was married. The curtains began to move, and we knew that the lady was getting up. In the meantime, the man had a fire going and we had dropped down completely exhausted. Say, I never ate such a good meal in my life! Potatoes! As large as your two fists. Fresh pork! And fine light biscuits! Nothing ever seen to equal them! We explained the condition of the party, and asked the man to take them some provisions. We had to sleep in an out-house (a corn crib), and when we awoke, about ten the next day, we asked the lady where the man was, and she told us that he had gone with relief for our party. I have gone through many things, but that winter trip was the most fearful of all.
Mr. Carter is, at this writing, July, 1915, living in Dillon. He is one of the successful ranchers, and never goes hungry. Toponce had an experience in those early days, even worse than the one above, as he lost his complete outfit in trying to haul freight from FortUnion to Helena.
Incidents in the Life of John F. Bishop.
Hugh O'Neil's train was at Ft.Bridger when John F. Bishop and John Swing overtook it. (Swing was drowned in 1864, in the Snake River. Reported to have had $4,000 gold and a large revolver on him, so he never came to the surface.)
The train consisted of about 130 men, women and children. We arrived at Blackfoot, and found the stream too high to ford. We took a wagon cover, put it around a wagon box, and ferried our stuff across. When we got to the Snake we could ford, as it had not commenced to rise. Al. E. Graeter, John Cowan, one of the men to discover Last Chance, and Robert hereford were along. Hereford had been in Montana before, so he knew the trail. We crossed the Medicine Lodge Divide, and though it was April there was no snow. We arrived in Bannack,April 20th, 1863.
Swing had 125 pairs of boots which he had bought in Denver and sold in Bannack for $13.00 per pair. Mr. Bishop mined some in Bannack, and later was in Beven's Gulch. He tells the following rather peculiar story of one of the first miners' trials in Beven's Gulch. It seems that a man had come from Oregon with a large band of horses, and he accused a young man that was with him, of having robbed him. The Sheriff was McCarty, for whom McCartyMountain was named. In arresting the young man, he did not treat him too kindly. The young fellow was afraid of the justice that he might receive at Virginia, and hearing that a man named Dan Dixon was up the Gulch, he went up to see him and to get him to intercede for him. Bishop and Dixon had listened to the young man's story and came to the conclusion to go down to Bagdad, the town of the gulch, and see fair play. When they got down there, they found that quite a number of the miners were full, so they got on the jury. They listened to the testimony, and rendered a verdict, that the defendant should knock the stuffing out of the plaintiff, and that they, the jury, would stand by and see that no one interfered while the sentence was being carried out, which they proceeded to do. This happened some time in August, 1863.
Mr. Bishop soon bought an outfit, and began to freight fromUtah. He also went to CowIsland, on the Missouri, below Benton for a load. While he was loading at that place, the Indians came in considerable numbers, and were very insulting, but the whites were compelled to allow them to do as they pleased. It was on this trip that the following happened:
A man and his wife had shipped a horse and buggy on the boat, and thought they would not experience much trouble from the Indians, between that point and FortBenton. They started out gaily enough and were gone but a little awhile, when the boys saw something coming back as fast as possible, which, on inspection, proved to be our friend. He was shouting Indians! Indians! as loud as he could. The train immediately corralled, and waited for the attack. They waited for some time and one of the fellows said he would go and investigate. He ascended a hill on the road and found that there was a, prairie dog town, and that the little fellows, sitting on their mounds, looked in that peculiar atmosphere, almost as large as men on horses. It was the effect of a mirage.
Later on, Mr. Bishop settled on the Beaverhead and began the raising of stock. He was probably the first Justice of the Peace in BeaverheadValley, and helped throw the diamond hitch that bound more than one couple together for life. "Uncle John" has many a little story of the early days of Montana. I am indebted to him, as well as others, for the incidents recorded in this story. He is hale and hearty, at an advanced age, and bids fair to enjoy many more years in our TreasureState.
Charles Beehrer.
"I was born in Stuttgart, Germany, on the 4th day of December, 1836, and came to America, where I landed in New York City in the spring of 1855. I went at once to Ann Arbor, Michigan, where I remained but a short time, as I got the gold fever, and went to Colorado, where I worked in the mines for two seasons, in Galena Gulch, in the southern part of the Territory. In the fall of 1862, I made arrangements with some of the young men to go to Idaho. There was no Montana in those days; so I bought a pair of mules, but the Indians got so bad that they burned the stage stations and made it such a serious matter that I told my partner, whose name was Myers, that I was willing to go if he would leave his wife in a safe place. She would not listen to such an arrangement, so I sold my mules and made up my mind to stay a little longer in Colorado. We had intended to go to Idaho and make beer, as I had learned two trades, brewing and coopering.
That summer I met two Texas men, and they wanted me to go down to Arizona with them. They claimed that the Indians had stolen 800,000 sheep and large herds of cattle, which we could get, if we could only secure men enough who were willing to take a chance. If we could only get this stuff into Colorado, we would sell and divide the money. Of course, you know this would look pretty good to any young person who was willing to take a chance, because taking this stuff away from Indians could not be considered wrong. I did not really tell them that I would go, but that I might see them inDenver. All I had was a good revol- ver and rifle. I had neither horse nor money. They told me I did not need money.
One of these Texas men had a brother who lived down on the Platte river, twenty miles below Denver. So when I got there, this man, who was an honest fellow, said to his brother, "You had better not take this boy in your gang," and he turned to me and said, "You had better not go. You don't know what kind of men they are." He told me they were highway robbers. I replied that l did not believe it, and that I would go and see the camp. So I went over to the camp about seven or eight miles, and I walked down and counted the horses. There were 48 men in camp besides myself and two were out some place, and there were only 46 saddle horses. So I said, "Boys, I can't go with you." And they wanted to know why, and I said, "There are only 46 horses and there are fifty of us altogether." They replied that that was all right; that they could pick up horses enough at the first ranch they came to, and that I should go. I told them no. Then they threatened to kill me, and told me I had to go. I repeated that I would not go, and that if I had done anything for which they thought I should be killed, to go ahead, as I would not go with them. I went to these men from Texas and had a long talk. They told me if I would make a solemn promise not to tell, they would let me go. I remember that there were men in that bunch that I saw afterwards, in Montana. Dr. Glick was one of them, and also John Wagner and Jack Gallagher. I came back by the ranch of the man who had told me not to go, and he was surprised to see me. He asked me what was the matter, and I told him they did not have horses enough, so I decided not to go. He remarked that I was a most fortunate young fellow to escape alive from that bunch.
I saw Dr. Glick, John Wagner, Jack Gallagher, John Heffner and Wilfert, among others, again in Montana. It was on account of finding such men as Wagner and Gallagher in the outfit that caused me to take but little stock in them, and was one reason why I did not go.
Shortly after I left there, they captured a government train that was loaded with supplies for Fort Collins. An assistant wagon boss brought the news to Denver, and Capt. Weis went out with a Company of cavalry, and brought them to Denver and put the whole gang in jail, but they had some friends who let them out, and they scattered -- many of them coming to Montana.
Fifty years ago they did not make much beer in the summer time, so a friend of mine, who had a butcher shop, gave me a job.
Although I never did like the saloon business, I made up my mind to buy a place close to where I could get a high-class lot of trade, such as the officers, etc. The first night I opened my place, I noticed that quite a lot of hobos, such as you find in all mining camps, came in. I call them all up probably ten or fifteen of them, and said: "Boys, I want to make a few remarks to you; come up and take another drink with me, and promise never to come in my saloon again; if you do, you will put me to the trouble of leading you out." And I did have to lead a few out. I had a nice place, as far as saloons go. I stayed there until spring, then I sold out and came to Montana, and never went into the saloon business again.
I landed at Yankee Flat, near Bannack, the 17th day of May, 1963, and soon after Alder Gulch was discovered, I went to that place and opened a brewery. I was the first man to brew beer, with hops, in Montana. Of course, there was a man by the name of Manheim that had made some beer out of wheat, with Utah sorghum and the tops of spruce pine. And Tom Smith had used oats, sorghum and sage brush; but I used hops. I had thirty-five pounds with me when I came, and bought sixteen pounds of wild hops from a fellow from Bitter Root, and gave him $8.00 per pound for it.
I was called ''Charlie the Brewer." I had beer ready for the 4th of July, and as I had agreed to deliver some to a party in Virginia City, I looked for my mules and could not see them, and as I needed money pretty bad, I put 22 gallons on my back, and carried it all the way to Virginia City -- two miles -- never setting it down; 196 pounds, and I got my money, $88.00, in gold for it I probably became identified with the Vigilantes, on account of Capt. James Williams, who overtook, me at the foot of the Big Bear River Hill, about forty miles east of Soda Springs. He came from FortBridger. He had been in the regular army, where he was a sergeant. He became captain of the Vigilantes.
Mr. Beehrer says that he remembers well the trial of George Ives, but thinks that Historians are wrong as to the date -- Decem- ber 21st -- as he said it was December 24th, as he wrote a letter to his father on that date.
He said that he never saw a person who was as fearless as Col. Sanders was at that trial. That he stood there and defied the toughs to do their worst, and in language that was not soothing, either in choice of words or manner of expression. After Sanders had made his remarkable speech, "that they hang George Ives by the neck until he was dead," Judge Bryam, who was a neighbor, got upon a butcher wagon, and made a, speech, and proposed all those in favor of Ives being hung say, "Aye," and those who were opposed say "No."
"You see, it seemed to me so foolish, I told the boys to run the wagon down the street." The Judge was an old man, and could not get out until they stopped; he came back and said, "Charley, why did you have the boys run the wagon down the street?" and I said, "Why didn't you make a sensible speech?" Then I told him to say, "All those in favor of turning Ives loose, walk across the street, and those in favor of hanging, stay here." And he said, ''What is that for'!" and I told him it was done so we could tell what the results were. We could tell then who the good men were, and who were the bad ones. The result was that there were about twenty to one in favor of the good men.
Before Ives was hung, we were all talking about it, as we are doing now. Col. Sanders was present, so was Maj. Baggs. I said, "It is getting late, and it is time now to do our duty." So we led Ives up to this place of execution, and Robert Hereford was the man to place the rope around Ives' neck.
There had been about twenty-five men from different places in the gulch, that had formed a committee in the Lott Brothers' store, and had taken an oath to do their duty. This was before the arrest of Ives for killing Tbalt, and it was their men that made the arrest. [Note: Beehrer and Judge Lott are both mistaken in this. That oath was signed on December 23rd when they got ready to go to Deer Lodge.] So it was no trouble for Col. Sanders to get enough men together to form a Vigilante committee, after Ives was hung. They called a meeting, and called for volunteers. Williams kept a horse ranch about ten miles from Nevada. We started that evening for his place, and between eleven and twelve o'clock, there came a most awful snow storm, so we were compelled to camp out. The next day we got things together, and started on the trip to Deer Lodge, twenty-eight of us, besides Long John, who was taken along to identify the highwaymen -- he had turned state's evidence. The majority of the men that were along went by their given names, and no one could tell who they were. There was Joe Dido, Elk Morse, fromSummit, Charles Brown (Dutch Charley), Louis Hooker and Luther Seboldt, who was a highly educated German gentleman. I did know a good many of them by their given names. Nobody knew me, except by my given name.
Our first camp was made at the crossing of the Big Hole, about where the Pennington Bridge is now, about eight miles from Twin Bridges, and then, on account of the snow being so deep on the McCarty Mountain, we went up the river and made our second camp about one mile below where Melrose is now, and next morning we were informed by Long John that the road agents had a camp up near where Glendale afterwards was built. They had a horse camp there. So we all separated and went in different directions to find the road agents' camp. I went toward Glendale, and from a big hill I saw a man going across the bench from McCarty Springs, over to Camp Creek. (He had learned in Virginia that we had started out.) I left the mountain and came down to camp as quick as I could, and found Capt. Williams, and I said, "Jim, I am afraid we are too late." I then asked him if he saw a fellow about a mile above, going on a good lope. I told him I thought the fellow was a messenger, going to warn the fellows.
Question: bow long did it take you to make that trip!
Answer: It was awful cold weather, and as I told you this morning, all we had to eat was fat bacon and flap-jacks. When we got down to Warm Springs, in the DeerLodgeValley, we made camp, and an Indian came up with two jack rabbits and a deer. Williams turned to me and said: "Charley, we are awful meat hungry, and you are the only one who has any money." Of course, I could not speak Indian, but I could make signs, and I told him to open his hand, and I gave him some gold. Of course, the Indian wanted more, but I knew how to trade with Indians, and told him to take that for his game, or put the gold back in my hand. He smiled at me, and made signs a few moments, and finally told me to take them. As we had not had any fresh meat for five or six days, we took the skin right off, and went to cooking. Rome of the boys were so hungry that they did not cook their meat enough. Charlie Brown, Hooker, Seboldt and myself. fried ours perfectly done. All the other were taken sick.
When we arrived at Deer Lodge, the boys were feeling too bad to camp out. Two Greasers kept a hotel. I told Jim that I did not know whether I had money enough to take us to the hotel, but that I would go and see. The Greasers spoke fairly good English, and I went and told them that we had 29 men and 82 horses and mules, and I thought very likely we would stay two days, and asked them how much they would charge to keep us. That is, to sleep in the house. Of course, we had our own beds. We wanted them to keep our horses and mules, and feed them on hay, but that we would attend to them ourselves. They told us they would take $180.00 for two days. I thought, that the men being Greasers, they would take better care of us if they were paid in advance, and I did pay in advance on that account. Then I went over to Dance and Stuarts, and asked what they would take for nine buffalo robes, as they were mighty good to sleep on. Dance told me he would take $2.25 apiece for them. I bought them, and asked if he had anything better. "Oh, yes, if you can stand the price." He then told me he had six bales. He opened all of them and I selected three more and paid him $27.00 for them, or $9.00 each.
Deer Lodge at that time probably did not have more than 100 people. It was a trading post, and practically everyone was a Canadian. It was John Grant's ranch then. John Grant afterwards sold to Con Kohrs. I was well acquainted with "Johnnie" Grant.
We found when we got to Deer Lodge that most of the highwaymen had gone. We got Tex -- I never knew his name -- a man by the name of Irwin, and Frank Parish.
As we had paid for our accommodations for two days, we were compelled to stay. I remember a peculiar incident of that time. We had gone into a saloon to play a game of euchre, to pass away the time. While we were sitting there, a big fine looking man came in and stood by the bar. I did not pay any more attention to him, and while playing my hand, he disappeared. I heard the sound as if some one was doing something with a revolver. I handed my hand to another of the boys, and looking over the bar, I saw that man down on his knees. He had a revolver in his hand, which he was loading, and two more were on the floor beside him. He met my gaze with a very savage one, but neither of us said a word. I told the Captain about him, and said that I believed that man was a bad one, and ought to be hung.
In 1870, I was in San Francisco, and got on a street car, and the only person there was this man of Deer Lodge, splendidly dressed. We exchanged looks, and again made no remarks. I told "Sport" Sullivan, a man whom I had known in St. Louis, about it, and he said that man was a captain of all the burglars in New York, Chicago and Frisco, and I would be just as apt to meet him one place as another. In 1877, when I was coming back from Europe, I met that same man in New York, and he knew me.
Bill Palmer, Louis Hooker and myself started back to Virginia City with Tex, Irwin and Frank Parish. Soon after we arrived there, williams came back and ordered those men turned loose -- all of these men were set free, and Tex had sense enough to leave the Country. As to Parish, Charlie Brown and I captured him a little way below Virginia City, and he was hung with Boone Helm, Club-Foot George, and the others, which was about five days after we got back. Williams did not fetch anyone in; he hung them wherever he found them.
There were two men who were the most active in helping to rid this country of the tough element. X. Beidler has had his praise, but Charley Brown (Dutch Charley), never received at the hands of the writer, or historians, his dues.
Charley Brown, that was not his real name, was a highly educated German gentleman -- in fact was a nobleman. He was at one time a page at the Bavarian Court, and was one of the four boys that rode the horses when the Queen took a ride. She had eight Shetland ponies, and four boys rode them, and cared for them. None, but those of noble birth, could become a courtier.
He was about six feet one inch, and weighed 220 pounds, and was a nice looking man when young. He was the man who put the rope around Slade's neck. He was also the man who led the ball with Mrs. Slade, about three weeks after, at Adelphia Hall, at Nevada. This was after Mrs. Slade had said that she would cut the heart out of the man who had placed the rope around her husband's neck. (Some Richard III in this Act.)
The day that Slade was hung I happened to be in Virginia, and Captain Williams was talking with Slade, and took him into Pfouts & Russell's store, and tried to get him to be decent. After they had made up their minds to hang him, Captain Williams asked me when I was going down -- meaning, of course, to Nevada. I told him I would go in a few minutes. He told me to go, and he would stay there, and for me to bring all the boys I could. Of course, I knew everybody. I had to go down to Junction anyway, on account of business. I asked Capt. Williams when he wanted me to come up. I told him I was sure the boys would not leave their work until noon. He said, "You bring them up as soon as you can, after dinner." Of course, everyone had a rifle or shotgun. If Slade had only acted a little decent, we would have turned him loose, but when the Sheriff came up, and went to him with a summons, he took it and tore it up, and said he would kill every Vigilante in the Gulch. When we had the gallows up, I looked for Mrs. Slade to come, as some one had gone for her. We were down in the gulch, and on the hills around us were what we called the minute men -- men who sympathized with the highwaymen. If Mrs. Slade should come, she could have had those men against us, and many would be killed. All at once I saw her coming down a steep hill just as fast as her horse could run. I stood by the gallows and said to the Captain, "Captain, do you see her comings? Then I pointed to Mrs. Slade, and told them not to waste any more time. Charley Brown got up then and put the rope around his neck. I never saw a man beg so in all my life. He told us to cut his arms off above the elbows, his legs above the knees, and made all kinds of promises that could be imagined. He could not help but see me there, and because we had always been good friends, he said: "Charlie, can't you do something for me" I said: "Slade, I am sorry to say I cannot." Mrs. Slade was coming from their ranch home, which was a stone building about four miles from Virginia City, on the road to MadisonValley.
I recall one little incident that happened the same day the five men were hanged. I was in Nick Kessler's saloon, in Virginia City, and a lot of these men, in fact, nearly all of them, were standing at the bar, cursing the Vigilantes, and Kessler told me he wanted to speak to me, and called me to one side. Before he could say anything, something was said by some of those fellows that made me mad, and I turned and told them that we had hanged five that day, and when it became necessary to hang any more, if they did not have any timber, I would furnish the timber and rope also. One of them replied: "Yes, Charlie, we know you, and you would be glad to hang the last one of us." Kessler told me that he would not have said what I did for all the gold in the mountains, because his life would not be worth anything after that. That they would get him sure.
I will tell you why I had an advantage over most of the old timers. My business brought me in contact with all of those men, so I was associated more with them than the others, and can remember them better. Then, of course, when we formed the committee, the miners could not leave their work. They could do a little, but they had no money, and they felt it was necessary for them to work. I was of a different disposition, and was willing to take a chance. I want you to understand me right. I never was a bully, but I wished to see justice done, and they could not scare me. Nobody could scare Charley Brown, either. Hc had a little cabin just below the brewery, and he came up and asked me if I was going to the ball. I told him that I would probably go down and look on a little while. Charley never did care for good clothes; so when he told me that he was going to lead the ball with Mrs. Slade, I said: "How dare you? You are not dressed fit to go to a ball." He said: "I will be the best dressed man in that ball room." I asked him how he made that out, and he said: "I will go down and make Lewis go to bed, and I will take his clothes." Lewis was a man about Charley's size, who had just bought the store of the Lott Brothers. He was probably the best dressed man in Nevada. Charley went down and persuaded him to go to bed, and in that way Charley became the best dressed man at the ball, and actually led the grand march with Mrs. Slade.
Charley was one of the healthiest men, and one of the toughest men I ever saw. Nothing could tire him. He was in the habit of taking a bath every night before he went to bed, in cold water. I had tried to get him to come up and live with me, because I was afraid that some of the band would kill him. These minute men, as we called them, came down one night, and I noticed they stopped -- and I looked out, it was moonlight -- and saw them in front of Charley's cabin. He was taking a bath when the minute men knocked at the door. He said: "Come in." and four or five rushed in, and found him standing ready for his bath, with a gun in each hand. And he said: "Gentlemen, what can I do for you?" That outfit was down to get him, but Charley Brown never allowed anyone to take him by surprise.
Charley Brown died in Alaska, where he was sent by the United States government, as an expert veterinarian, to examine into the cause of disease among the reindeer. He has a son, and one or two daughhters living in MilesCity.
Soon After the PortNeufCanyon Robbery.
Charlie Brown came into my room in my brewery, which was afterward the Kessler, and told me he wanted "Dime," a fine thoroughbred mare. I believe she was as nice a mare as ever came to Montana. He took the mare and rode to Blackfoot. I did not see him for a little while, until I had returned to Nevada, - when he came in and said: "Hello, Charlie." I said: "Where's Dime!" "Oh, she is all right," he said. I had four guns hanging on the wall, and he picked out the best one, and said: "I want this gun, and your best revolver." I asked him if some other would not do as well, and he said, "No, this is what I want. Is it loaded?" I said: "Yes." "Well, give me $50.00 also." "Is that all you want!" I asked indignantly. His reply was yes. I asked him what he was going to do, and he said that he was going to Denver after Williams, the man that drove the coach in the Port Neuf robbery. This man Williams had driven my team from Denver to Virginia, and had come to me and told me that he was going on the road. Brown did not return to Montana for several months. When he came back, he reported that he had caught Williams and hung him to a cottonwood, about five miles from Denver.
Charlie Brown was a most peculiar man. He would not work at anything hard. He was a splendid horseman, and drove the band wagon for Dan Rice's Circus when he was east. There were 48 horses hitched to this wagon, and Charlie was in his glory on the box
Boone Helm
This savage and defiant marauder, who died with profanity, blasphemy, ribaldry and treason on his lips, came to the West from Missouri in the spring of 1850. He separated from his wife, by whom he had one little girl, and left his home at Log Branch, MonroeCounty, having first packed up all his clothes for the journey. He went towards Paris, and, on his road thither, called on Littlebury Shoot, for the purpose of inducing him to go with him, in which he succeeded.
Boone was, at this time, a wild and reckless character, when inflamed by liquor, to the immoderate use of which he was much addicted. He sometimes broke out on a spree, and would ride his horse up the steps and into the Court House. Having arrived at Paris, Boone tried hard to persuade Shoot to accompany him to Texas, and it is believed that he obtained some promise from him to that effect, given to pacify him, he being drunk at the time, for Shoot immediately afterward returned home.
About nine p. m. Boone came from town to Shoot's house and woke him up out of bed. The unfortunate man went out in his shirt and drawers to speak with him, and as he was mounted, he stepped on to a stile-block, placing his hand on his shoulder, conversing with him in a friendly manner for a few minutes. Suddenly, and without any warning of his intention, Boone drew his knife and stabbed Shoot to the heart. He fell instantly, and died before he could be carried into the house. He spoke only once, requesting to see his wife. The murderer rode off at full speed. It seems that Boone had quarreled with his wife, and was enraged with Shoot for not going with him to Texas, and that in revenge for his disappointment he committed the murder. Immediate pursuit was made after the assassin.
Mr. William Shoot, the brother of the deceased, was at that time living in the town of Hannibal, and immediately on receipt of the news he started in pursuit of the criminal. Boone Helm had, however, forty miles start of him; but such good speed did the avenger make, that pursuer and pursued crossed Grand Prairie together, Shoot arriving at Roachport and Boone Helm at Booneville, within the space of a few hours. Telegrams descriptive of the fugitive were sent in all directions, and were altered as soon as it was discovered that the murderer had changed his clothes. Shoot returned to Paris, and being determined that Helm should not escape, he bought two horses and hired Joel Moppen and Samuel Querry to follow him, which com mission they faithfully executed, coming up with their man in the Indian Territory. They employed an Indian and a Deputy Sheriff to take him, which they accordingly did. When ordered to surrender, he made an effort to get at his knife; but when the Sheriff threatened to shoot him dead if he moved, he submitted. He was brought back, and by means of the ingenuity of his lawyers, he succeeded in obtaining a postponement of his trial. He then applied for a change of venue to a remote county, and at the next hearing the State was obliged to seek a postponement, on the ground of the absence of material witnesses. He shortly after appeared before a Judge newly appointed, and having procured testimony that his trial had been three times postponed, he was set free, under the laws of the State.
He came to California and joined himself to the confraternity of iniquity that then ruled the country. He either killed or assisted at the killing of nearly a dozen men in the brawls so common at that time in the western country. In Florence, Idaho Territory, he killed a German called Dutch Fred, in the winter of 1S61-62. The victim had given him no provocation whatever; it was a mere drunken spree and "shooting scrape."
He also broke jail in Oregon, a squaw with whom he lived furnishing him with a file for that purpose. He escaped to Carriboo.
He was brought back; but the main witnesses were away when the trial took place, and the civil authorities were suspected of having substantial reasons for letting him escape. He was considered a prominent desperado, and was never known to follow any trade for a living, except that of road agent, in which he was thoroughly versed.
Helm was a man of medium size, and about forty years old; hard-featured, and not intelligent looking. It was believed at Florence that a relative, known as "Old Tex," furnished money to e]ear him from the meshes of the law, and to send him to this country. If ever a desperado was all guilt and without a single redeeming feature in his character, Boone Helm was the man.
His last words were: ''Kick away, old Jack; I'll be in h---l with you in ten minutes. Every man for his principles -hurrah for Jeff. Davis! let her rip." George Ives.
We have only a few words to add to the account already given of this celebrated robber and murderer. He was raised at Ives' Grove, Racine County,Wisconsin, and was a member of a highly respectable family. It seems that life in the wild West gradually dulled his moral perceptions; for he entered, gradually, upon the career of crime which ended at Nevada, M. T. His mother for a long time believed the account that he sent to her, about his murder by the hands of Indians, and which he wrote himself. It is reported that sorrow and death have been busy among his relatives ever since.
Bill Bunton followed gambling as his regular calling, at Lewiston, Idaho, in the winter of 1861-2. In the summer of 1862, he shot a man named Daniel Cagwell, without provocation. There was a general fracas at a ball, held on Copyeye Creek, near Walla Walla. Bunton was arrested, but made his escape from the officer, by jumping on a fast horse and riding off at full speed.
The first that was afterward heard of him was that he turned up in this country. In person, Bunton was a large, good-looking man, about thirty years of age, and rather intelligent. He had been for some years on the Pacific coast, where he had lived as a sporting man and saloon keeper. He was absolutely fearless, but was still addicted to petty theft, as well as to the greater enormities of road agency and murder. His dying request, it will be remembered, was for a mountain to jump off, and his last words, as he jumped from the board, "Here goes it."
Of Johnny Cooper we have already spoken. A word is necessary concerning the history of Aleck Carter, which forms a strong contrast to the others. It appears that for several years this eminent member of Plummer's band bore an excellent character in the West. He was a native of Ohio, but followed the trade of a packer in California and Oregon, maintaining a reputation for honor and honesty of the highest kind. Large sums of money were frequently entrusted to his care, for which he accounted to the entire satisfaction of his employers. He left the "other side" with an unstained reputation; but falling into evil company in Montana, he threw off all recollections of better days, and was one of the leading spirits of the gang of marauders that infested this Territory. It is sad to think that such a man should have ended his life as a felon, righteously doomed to death on the gallows.
Cyrus Skinner
Hewas a saloon-keeper in Idaho, and always bore a bad character. His reputation for dishonesty was well known, and in this country he was a bloodthirsty and malignant outlaw, without a redeeming quality. He was the main plotter of Magruder's murder.
Bill Hunter. Probably not one of those who died for their connection with the road agent band was more lamented than Hunter. His life was an alternation of hard, honest work, and gambling. That he robbed and assisted to murder a Mormon, and that he was a member of the gang, there can be no doubt; but it is certain that this was generally unknown, and his usual conduct was that of ~ kind-hearted man. He had many friends, and some of them still cherish his memory. He confessed his connection with the band, and the justness of his sentence just before his death. His escape from Virginia, through the pickets placed on the night of the 9th of January, 1864, was connived at by some of the Vigilantes, who could not be made to believe that he was guilty of the crimes laid to his charge.
Stephen Marshland, he was a graduate of a college in the States; and, though a road agent and thief, yet he never committed murder, and was averse to shedding blood. He was wounded in attacking Forbes' train, and his feet were so far mortified by frost when he was captured that the scent attracted the wolves, and the body had to be watched all night.
Concerning the rest of the gang nearly all that is known has already been related. They were, without exception, old offenders from the PacificCoast. The "bunch" on Ned Ray's foot was caused by a wound from a shot fired at him when escaping from the penitentiary at St. Quentin, California. This he told himself, at Bannack.
James Daniels. This criminal, the last executed by the Vigilantes, it should be generally understood, murdered a Frenchman in Tuolumne County,California, and chased another with a bowie-knife till his strength gave out. In Helena he killed Gartley, whose wife died of a broken heart at the news; threatened the lives of the witnesses for the prosecution, and had drawn his knife, and concealed it in his sleeve, with the intent of stabbing Hugh 0'Neil in the back, after the fight between Orem and Marley at the Challenge Saloon. He said he "would cut the heart out of the -!" when an acquaintance who was watching him caught hold of him and told him he was in the wrong crowd to do that. Daniels renewed his threats when liberated, and was hanged; not because he was pardoned, but because he was unfit to live in the community.(source: University of Montana, Western, Carson Library)
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