“Boys, they have shot Carrhart,” and with an emphatic stroke of his fist upon the counter, he added with an oath, “Let’s kill ’em,” simultaneously raising his pistol and firing at both Sapp and Banfield. Russell at the same moment seized his arm, with a view to prevent his shooting, and in the struggle misdirected his aim. Meanwhile, Reeves fired at Banfield, who dodged under a table and crept out of the back door with a shot in his knee. Sapp, wounded in the little finger, also retreated under the fire of the road agents,—a friend, Goliah Reilly, rushing to his assistance, who also, upon turning to escape, received a bullet in his heel. George Carrhart was a fine-looking, intelligent, gentlemanly man. He had been a member of the legislature of one of the Western States. Whiskey transformed him into a rowdy, made the company of ruffians congenial, and led him on to his unfortunate fate. Dick Sapp was a brave, generous young man, very popular with the people. The next morning, accompanied by several Colorado friends, he returned to Skinner’s saloon. Skinner, who had seconded without participating in the attempt of Moore and Reeves to kill him the evening before, when he saw him enter, was alarmed for his own safety, and sought to propitiate him by inviting him and his friends to drink with him. “No,” said Sapp, “I want none of your whiskey. Last night I came here unarmed to indulge in a little game of poker, and you all tried to kill me. Now I’m here to fight you all, singly, and I’ve brought some friends, to see that I have fair play.” Moore and Skinner apologized, and begged him to overlook it; but Sapp refused to accept their apologies, and left. Afterwards some friends of Moore and Skinner, at their request, went to Sapp, and with no little difficulty effected a reconciliation. Poor Banfield entrusted the care of his wound to an unskilful physician, and died soon after, for the want of proper treatment.