In the bad times soon after the coming of the first railroad, I returned to El Paso as deputy United States marshal, and encountered many strangers, and was called to the custom house to appraise some liquor which had been smuggled by one Longmeier. Although I had nothing to do with the seizure of the liquor, Longmeier thought I had, or else he thought it no harm to kill a deputy marshal, anyhow. That night, while sitting at supper with my back to a window which opened on the common (which window had a hanging curtain), I heard the landlord call from the outside: “Mills, get your pistol; a man is going to kill you.” The landlord, John Woods, colored (who was afterwards killed by a policeman), had found Longmeier crouched at the window, pistol in hand, trying to find an opening through the curtain, and when asked what he was doing, replied that he was going to kill the d—n deputy marshal. Longmeier fled and went to Silver City, and was soon after killed by a man of his own class. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ A HOLD UP. Soon after the above incident, I went one night about 9 o’clock to call for my wife, who was visiting some friends near McGoffin’s place. As I walked unarmed and with my overcoat thrown over my shoulder, I heard and saw a man walking suspiciously behind me, and determined to watch him, but as he followed a different street at a junction I dismissed him from my mind. Suddenly he sprang from the bushes about fifteen feet from the road, with a very large pistol directed at me, and the following dialogue ensued: He—“Halt! Your money or your life.” I—“My friend, I haven’t a damn cent.” He—“Er, er. Hold up your hands.” I did as requested. He—“Ain’t you got no jewelry nor nothin’?” I—“I told you no.” He—“I believe you are a d—n liar.” I—“Ain’t it bad enough to be broke without being insulted about it?” He—“I’ve a damn notion to kill you, any how.” I—“I am afraid you will. You don’t intend to kill me, but that pistol is pointed right at me, and you are nervous and it might go off.” I positively saw that man move his pistol so that, had it been discharged, the bullet would have missed me by several feet. His voice quivered and I could see him tremble. He—“Throw off that overcoat and step to one side.” I complied. I—“When you take the coat please take the papers from the pocket and leave them in the road.” More conversation, and then: He—“Pick up your coat and walk straight down the middle of the road; no bad breaks, now, or by —— I will kill you.” And though I was never a Populist, I walked that night down the “middle of the road.” * * * * *