“You’re surely mistaken,” replied Holter. “I left what I had at the camp, and had to borrow ten dollars in town.” “I tell you, you have got money,” was the savage rejoinder. “Turn your pockets inside out—and be quick about it, too.” Holter complied, and found a few greenbacks, which, as they were not in use, he had forgotten. “Hand ’em over here,” said Ives, and cramming them hurriedly into his pocket, he said, “Now, turn your cattle out of the road, and don’t follow our tracks; and when you come this way again, bring more money with you.” As Holter turned his cattle to obey, he glanced furtively over his shoulder, and saw Ives in the very act of firing at him. Dodging instinctively, the ball passed through his hat, ploughing a furrow down to the scalp, which it grazed, through his heavy hair. Stunned by the shot, Holter staggered and almost fell, just as Ives aimed and pulled the trigger again. Fortunately, the cap snapped; and Holter, now sufficiently recovered, started on a run, and took refuge in an old beaver-dam. Ives followed him closely for another shot, but a teamster with a load of poles at this moment appeared upon the road, which circumstance deterred Ives from firing, and probably saved Holter’s life. During this same season, a man who had been whipped for larceny at Nevada, under some modification of his punishment, agreed to disclose certain transactions of the robbers. Ives heard of it, and watching his opportunity, met the poor fellow on the road between Virginia City and Dempsey’s. Riding up to him, he deliberately fired at him with his gun charged with buckshot. From some cause the shot failed of effect. Ives immediately drew his revolver, and while loading him with oaths and execrations, shot him through the head. The man fell dead from his horse, which Ives took by the bridle and led off to the hills. This cold-blooded murder was committed in open day on the most populous thoroughfare in the country, in plain view of two ranches, and while several teams were in sight. Travellers who arrived at the spot half an hour after its occurrence, aided by the neighboring ranchemen, paid the last sad offices to the still warm but lifeless body. Ives sought concealment in the wakiup of George Hilderman, where he remained until satisfied that no public action would be taken to avenge the crime. He then again sallied forth to watch for fresh opportunities for plunder and bloodshed. His name had become the terror of the country. No man felt safe with such a monster at large, and yet no one was ready to initiate a plan for his destruction. His malevolence was only equalled by his audacity,—and this was, if possible, surpassed by his gasconade. The dark features of his character were unrelieved by a single generous or manly quality. Avarice, and a natural thirst for bloody adventures, controlled his life.