A few days after the disappearance of Evans, a number of citizens were seated in general conversation around the fire in a saloon kept by Mr. Goodrich. Among the number were Plummer, Jeff Perkins, and Augustus Moore. Suddenly the door was violently opened and Cleveland entered. With an air of assumed authority he proclaimed himself “chief,” adding with an oath that he knew all the scoundrels from the “other side” and intended to get even with some of them. The covert threat which these words revealed did not escape the notice of Plummer, but Cleveland upon the instant charged Perkins with having violated a promise to pay some money which the latter owed him in the lower country. Perkins assured him it had been paid. “If it has,” said Cleveland, “it is all right,” but as if to signify his distrust of Perkins’s statement, he commenced handling his pistol and reiterating the charges. To prevent Cleveland from carrying into execution his apparent design of shooting Perkins, Plummer fixed his eyes sternly upon him and in a calm tone told him to behave himself, that Perkins had paid the debt and he ought to be satisfied. Quiet was restored for the moment and Perkins slipped off, intending to return with his pistols and shoot Cleveland on sight. Here the difficulty would have ended had not Cleveland, in an evil moment, in a defiant and threatening manner, with mingled profanity and epithet, declared that he did not fear any of them. Filled with rage, Plummer sprang to his feet, drew his pistol, and exclaiming, “I am tired of this,” followed up the expression with a couple of rapid shots, the last of which struck Cleveland below the belt. He fell on his knees. Grasping wildly for his pistol, he appealed to Plummer not to shoot him while he was down. “No,” said Plummer, whose blood was now up; “get up.” Cleveland staggered to his feet, only to receive two more shots, the second of which entered below the eye. He fell to the floor, and Plummer, sheathing his pistol, turned to leave the saloon. At the door he was met by George Ives and Charley Reeves, each of whom, pistol in hand, was coming to take part in the affray. Each seizing an arm, they escorted Plummer down the street, meanwhile suggesting with great expletive emphasis a variety of surmises as to the possible effect of the quarrel upon the public. Hank Crawford and Harry Phleger, two respectable citizens, hastened to the aid of the dying desperado, whom they conveyed to Crawford’s lodgings. His bed being poorly furnished Cleveland sent him to Plummer’s cabin to get a pair of blankets belonging to him. The interview, between Crawford and Plummer on this occasion showed that the mind of the latter was ill at ease. Like Macbeth’s dread of Banquo, so he felt that, while Cleveland lived,— “There is none but he Whose being I do fear; and under him My genius is rebuk’d.”