“Search me, if you think I have any weapons. My fuss was with a colored man, not with you. I don’t want anything to do with you.” As he turned to release himself from the grasp of Leach, that ruffian, aiming at his heart, said, “If you open your mouth again, I’ll kill you,” and instantly fired, the ball entering the left side, below the breast. Hayes lived about an hour. On being apprised of the affray, X. Beidler hastened to the spot to arrest Leach. A crowd of roughs stood around to protect him, but Beidler, pistol in hand, at the risk of his life, pushed his way through it, and seizing Leach by the collar, secured him with handcuffs and led him to jail. Knives had been drawn in the _mêlée_ by Leach’s friends. A deadly blow had been aimed at Beidler by one Bill Hynson, which he evaded by the dexterous use of his right arm. After the man was in prison, and quiet restored, Hynson sought out Beidler, who was then, as now, a terror to the roughs, and said to him, “X., I saved your life. I knocked off the blow just in time.” Comprehending the object of this salutation, X. replied dryly, “I’m all right now, and much obliged to you. I suppose you saved my life.” Hynson, mistaking the irony for sincerity, followed it up by a request that Beidler would use his influence to get him a position on the police force of Helena. Beidler gave him no encouragement, and a few days afterwards he told Beidler he had got a better thing and did not wish the place. From the meagre description given by Hanson of the man he saw in company with the Chinawoman, during the evening preceding her murder, Beidler’s suspicions fell upon Hynson. He watched him narrowly, but could find no clew. A day or two after the murder, at a very early hour in the morning, Beidler, in pursuit of circumstances to justify his suspicions, abruptly entered an old, deserted building, which a lot of loafers and roughs had appropriated for sleeping purposes. The floor was covered with their blankets, and the sudden presence of Beidler among them at so early an hour caused great consternation. They crept from their covers, and exchanging hurried glances with each other, as if to inquire, “Which of us is this day a victim for the dry tree?” fled from the building like rats from a sinking ship. Hynson was among the number. In the hurried observation he had taken of the room, Beidler saw, lying beside Hynson under his blanket, a Henry rifle, which by the initials on the stock he recognized as Claggett’s. After the room was deserted, he returned to it, and seizing the rifle sent it to its owner by the next express. Hynson missed the rifle. Meeting Beidler the next day, he inquired if he had seen it. “Yes,” replied X. “Whose is it?” “Mine,” said Hynson defiantly. “Yours!” rejoined X. sternly. “How came you by it? You have seen the initials on the stock. Don’t you know whose it is?”