Plummer was the recognized chief of the murderous band. To him was assigned the task of killing Crawford, who, as sheriff, had acted a prominent part in the trial of the exiles. This task was rendered doubly acceptable to Plummer, because he believed it would silence the tongue of the only man in the country who had any knowledge of his guilty career in California. One such person, in Cleveland, had already been slain; but Plummer suspected that on his deathbed, Cleveland had told Crawford everything. Crawford knew intuitively of Plummer’s suspicions, and felt that his life was in danger. He was careful never to be unarmed. His business, as the proprietor of a meat market, was one of constant exposure. It rendered occasional journeys to Deer Lodge, where he purchased cattle, necessary, and his trips to his ranche, several miles from town, were also frequent. Outwardly, Plummer was friendly. One of Crawford’s friends, Harry Phleger, confirmed his worst suspicions, by telling him that he had seen Plummer near the market one night, apparently on the watch for him. He had also noticed some suspicious movements of Plummer and a rough, familiarly called “Old Tex,”[3] which seemed to be directed against Crawford. Footnote 3: The “Old Tex” mentioned in this part of the history must not be confounded with Boone Helm’s brother, who is mentioned under the same cognomen in its earlier pages. “Old Tex” was a common _sobriquet_ in the mountains for noted men who had spent a portion of their lives in Texas. Almost every Territory has its respective “Buffalo Bill,” “Whiskey Bill,” “Bed Rock Joe,” “Sour Dough Tom,” and “Old Tex.” Plummer soon saw that Crawford understood him, and that the only safe method of executing his design was to provoke him into a quarrel. Plummer was reputed to excel any man in the mountains in the use of a pistol,—an accomplishment in which Crawford had no skill. Several little incidents growing out of Crawford’s efforts to reimburse himself for the expenses he had incurred in the care and burial of Cleveland, and in the trial of Moore and Reeves, in which Plummer voluntarily intermingled, discovered the deadly purpose of the latter. On one of these occasions, believing that a quarrel could not be avoided, he was unexpectedly confronted by five or six of Crawford’s friends with their hands on their revolvers. His temper and courage cooled at once, and he sent Crawford an apology, desiring to meet him as a friend. They shook hands a few days after, and parted, seemingly on the best of terms. Anxious as Crawford was to be at peace, he was not deceived by this offer of friendship. It was but a new move in the deadly game which Plummer was playing for his life, and he knew it. A few days afterwards, while conversing in a saloon, a rough-looking individual asked him, in an impudent manner, what he was talking about. “None of your business,” replied Crawford.