After the execution of Bunton, the Vigilantes, in company with Jemmy Allen, a rancheman, left Cottonwood for Hell Gate, a little settlement ninety miles down the river, in the vicinity of Bitter Root Valley. Snow covered the ground to the depth of two feet, and the weather was intensely cold. It was after dark when the company arrived at one of the crossings of the Deer Lodge. The river, being a rapid mountain stream, seldom freezes sufficiently solid to bear a horseman; but, no other mode of transit presenting itself, the Vigilantes drove hurriedly upon the frozen surface, and, before they were half-way across, the ice gave way, precipitating their horses into the water. Had the stream been wide, all must have perished. As it was, after must floundering and considerable exertion, all were landed safely on the opposite bank. One of the party barely escaped drowning, and his horse was dragged from the stream by a lariat around his neck. At eleven o’clock the company arrived at Allen’s ranche, where they passed the remainder of the night in blankets. The next day, accompanied by Charles Eaton, who was familiar with the country, they rode on in the direction of Hell Gate, but, owing to the great depth of the snow, progressed only fifteen miles. They made a camp in the snow. Their horses, being accustomed to the mountains, pawed, in the snow to find the bunch-grass. The ride of the following day terminated at the workmen’s quarters on the Mullen wagon-road. One of the ponies broke his leg by stepping into a badger hole while they were going into camp, and another, by a similar accident, stripped the skin from his hindlegs. They were obliged to shoot the former, and turn the latter loose to await their return. The troop were in their saddles at daylight, on the route to the settlement, which they approached to within six miles, and went into camp until after nightfall. Then they resumed their ride, stopping a short distance outside of the town. The scout they had sent to reconnoitre brought them all needful information, and, mounting their horses, they entered the town on a keen run. Skinner was standing in the doorway of his saloon, when they rode up, surrounded the building, and ordered him to “throw up his hands.” “You must have learned that from the Bannack stage folks,” said his _chere amie_, Nelly, who was an observer of the scene. Two men dismounted, and, seizing Skinner, bound him immediately. Meantime two or three Vigilantes threw open the door of Miller’s cabin, which was next to Skinner’s, and Dan Harding, the foremost among them, levelling his gun, shouted to some person lying upon a lounge, “Alex, is that you?” “Yes,” replied the man, “what do you want?” “We want you,” was the reply, as the men rushed in, took his pistol, and bound the robber before he was thoroughly aroused from sleep.