Vigilante Days and Ways: The pioneers of the Rockies; the makers and making of Montana and IdahoLangford, Nathaniel Pitt
History
Vigilante Days and Ways: The pioneers of the Rockies; the makers and making of Montana and Idaho
Langford, Nathaniel Pitt
Frontier and pioneer life -- Northwestern States; Northwestern States -- History; Vigilance committees; West (U.S.) -- History
Early in the evening of the same day, Slade, instigated by the demon of
whiskey, provoked a fight with Jack Gallagher, which, had not
by-standers disarmed the combatants, would have had a fatal termination.
Soon after this was over I saw him enter the California Exchange,
accompanied by two friends whom he invited to drink with him. When in
the act of raising their glasses, Slade drew back his powerful arm and
struck the one nearest him a violent blow on the forehead. He fell
heavily to the floor. Slade left immediately, and the man, being raised,
recovered consciousness and disappeared. Slade returned in a few moments
with another friend whom he asked to drink, and struck down. Again he
went out, and soon came in with another whom he attempted to serve in
the same manner, but this man rose immediately to his feet. Slade was
foiled by the interference of by-standers, in the attempt to strike him
again. Turning on his heel, his eye caught mine. I was standing a few
feet from him by the wall. He advanced rapidly towards me, and,
expecting an assault, I assumed a posture of defence. Greatly to my
surprise, he accosted me civilly, and throwing his arm around me, said
jocosely,
“Old fellow! You didn’t think I was going to cheat you out of that
lumber, did you?”
He then asked me to drink. I respectfully declined.
“It’s all right,” said he, and walked away.
I met him afterwards several times during the evening, but he said
nothing more.
Nine years after these occurrences, in July, 1872, I went from Helena to
Fort Hall by coach, to accompany the United States Geological Survey,
under charge of Dr. Hayden, to the National Park. Dan Johnson, the
driver from Snake River to the fort, being unwell, and having a vicious
horse in his team, asked my assistance, and I drove for him to the
station. We fell into a desultory conversation, and Dan’s reserve
wearing off, he gave me a look of recognition from under the broad rim
of his hat, abruptly exclaiming,
“If I’m not much mistaken, I’ve seen your face before.”
“Very likely. I’ve passed over the line many times.”
“That’s not it. It’s a long time since I have seen you, and I have got
you mixed up with some old recollections of Virginia City, as long ago
as 1863.”
“I was there a good portion of the time during the Fall of that year.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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