He was arrested one morning after a night of riot and violence. He and his companions had made the town a scene of uproar and confusion. Every saloon in it bore evidence of their drunken mischief and lawlessness. They were taken before Judge Davis, who ordered the sheriff to read the writ to them, by way of an arraignment. Fairweather, one of Slade’s comrades, placed his right hand on his revolver and with his left hand menacingly snatched the writ from the sheriff before it was half read, and tearing it in twain, cast the pieces angrily upon the floor and ground them under his feet. “Go in, Bill,” said Slade, addressing him and drawing his revolver, “I am with you. We’ll teach this volunteer court what its law is worth anyhow.” The sheriff, who probably entertained Falstaffian ideas of valor, made no resistance, and the court was thus virtually captured. This transaction roused the Vigilantes, who had only been prevented from summarily punishing Slade on several occasions during the previous three months at the earnest intercessions of P. S. Pfouts, Major Brookie, and Judge Davis. The two first named of those gentlemen now abandoned him. A large number of the Committee assembled, and while they were engaged in council, a leading member sought out Slade, and in an earnest, quiet tone said to him, “Slade, get your horse at once and go home, or you will have serious trouble.” Slade, himself a member of the Vigilantes, startled into momentary sobriety by this sudden warning, quickly inquired, “What do you mean?” “You have no right to ask me what I mean. Get your horse at once, and remember what I tell you.” “All right,” he replied; “I will follow your advice.” A few moments afterwards he made his appearance on horseback, to obey, as his friend supposed, the warning he had given him; but, seeing some of his comrades standing near, he became again uproarious, and seemed by his conduct to ignore the promise he had made. Seeking for Judge Davis, whom he found in the store of Pfouts and Russell, he interrupted him while conversing with John S. Lott. “I hear,” said he, addressing him, “that they are going to arrest me.” “Go home, Slade,” said Davis; “go at once, and behave yourself, and you may yet escape.” “No,” he replied, “you are now my prisoner. I will hold you as a hostage for my own safety.” “All right, Slade,” said the judge, smiling, and still continuing to converse with Lott. “Oh, I mean it,” replied Slade with an oath, pulling a derringer from his pocket and aiming it at Davis. William Hunt, who had been an eyewitness of these proceeding now stepped up, and, facing Slade defiantly, said to him, “You are not going to hurt him. He can do and act he pleases, and don’t you dare to touch him.” Slade made some careless rejoinder.