The final disposition of the three villains in custody was delayed until the next day. A strong guard of well-armed men surrounded their prison. Just after midnight the sleeping inhabitants of the town were roused by several shots fired in the direction of the place of confinement. In a few minutes the streets were filled with citizens. A former friend of Peoples, one Marshall, who kept a hotel in town, had, in attempting his rescue, fired upon the guard. In return he received a shot in his arm, and was prostrated by a blow from a clubbed musket. The cause of the _mêlée_ being explained, the people withdrew, leaving the sentinels at their posts. The next morning at an early hour the people gathered around the prison. The guards were gone and the door ajar. Unable to restrain their curiosity, and fearful that the robbers had been rescued, they pushed the door wide open. There, hanging by the neck, stark and cold, they beheld the bodies of the three desperadoes. Justice had been anticipated, and the first Vigilance Committee of the northern mines had commenced its work. No one knew or cared who had done it, but all felt that it was right, and the community breathed freer than at any former period of its history. Intelligence of the execution, with the usual exaggeration, spread far and wide through the mining camps. It was received with approval by the sober citizens, but filled the robber horde with consternation. Charley Harper, while on his way from Florence to Lewiston to gather full particulars, met a mountaineer. “Stranger,” he inquired, “what’s the news?” “I s’pose you’ve heard about the hanging of them fellers?” “Heard something. What’s the particulars?” “Well, Bill Peoples, Dave English, and Nels Scott have gone in. They strung ’em up like dried salmon. Happy Harry got out of the way in time; but if they get Club Foot George, his life won’t be worth a cent. They’re after a lot more of ’em up in Florence.” “Do you know who all they’re after?” asked Harper. “Yes. Charley Harper’s the big chief they’re achin’ for the most, but the story now is that he’s already hanged. A feller went into town day before yesterday, and said he saw him strung up out here on Camas Prairie. Did you hear anything of it back on the road?” Harper needed no further information. He felt that the country was too hot to hold him, and that the bloodhounds were on his track. As soon as the miner was out of sight, he turned to the right, crossed the Clearwater some miles above Lewiston, and pursued a trail to Colville on the Upper Columbia, where we will take leave of him for the present. CHAPTER VIII NEW GOLD DISCOVERIES