Roughing It
person was the pitiless scourge of the outlaws, the raw-head-and-bloody-
bones the nursing mothers of the mountains terrified their children
with. And to this day I can remember nothing remarkable about Slade
except that his face was rather broad across the cheek bones, and that
the cheek bones were low and the lips peculiarly thin and straight. But
that was enough to leave something of an effect upon me, for since then
I seldom see a face possessing those characteristics without fancying
that the owner of it is a dangerous man.
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The coffee ran out. At least it was reduced to one tin-cupful, and Slade
was about to take it when he saw that my cup was empty.
He politely offered to fill it, but although I wanted it, I politely
declined. I was afraid he had not killed anybody that morning, and might
be needing diversion. But still with firm politeness he insisted on
filling my cup, and said I had traveled all night and better deserved it
than he—and while he talked he placidly poured the fluid, to the last
drop. I thanked him and drank it, but it gave me no comfort, for I could
not feel sure that he would not be sorry, presently, that he had given
it away, and proceed to kill me to distract his thoughts from the loss.
But nothing of the kind occurred. We left him with only twenty-six dead
people to account for, and I felt a tranquil satisfaction in the thought
that in so judiciously taking care of No. 1 at that breakfast-table I
had pleasantly escaped being No. 27. Slade came out to the coach and saw
us off, first ordering certain rearrangements of the mail-bags for our
comfort, and then we took leave of him, satisfied that we should hear of
him again, some day, and wondering in what connection.
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CHAPTER XI.
And sure enough, two or three years afterward, we did hear him again.
News came to the Pacific coast that the Vigilance Committee in Montana
(whither Slade had removed from Rocky Ridge) had hanged him. I find an
account of the affair in the thrilling little book I quoted a paragraph
from in the last chapter—“The Vigilantes of Montana; being a Reliable
Account of the Capture, Trial and Execution of Henry Plummer’s Notorious
Road Agent Band: By Prof. Thos. J. Dimsdale, Virginia City, M.T.” Mr.
Dimsdale’s chapter is well worth reading, as a specimen of how the
people of the frontier deal with criminals when the courts of law prove
inefficient. Mr. Dimsdale makes two remarks about Slade, both of which
are accurately descriptive, and one of which is exceedingly picturesque:
“Those who saw him in his natural state only, would pronounce him to be
a kind husband, a most hospitable host and a courteous gentleman; on the
contrary, those who met him when maddened with liquor and surrounded by
a gang of armed roughs, would pronounce him a fiend incarnate.” And
this: “From Fort Kearney, west, _he was feared A GREAT DEAL MORE THAN
THE ALMIGHTY_.” For compactness, simplicity and vigor of expression, I
will “back” that sentence against anything in literature. Mr. Dimsdale’s
narrative is as follows. In all places where italics occur, they are
mine:
After the execution of the five men on the 14th of January, the
Vigilantes considered that their work was nearly ended. They had freed
the country of highwaymen and murderers to a great extent, and they
determined that in the absence of the regular civil authority they would
establish a People’s Court where all offenders should be tried by judge
and jury. This was the nearest approach to social order that the
circumstances permitted, and, though strict legal authority was wanting,
yet the people were firmly determined to maintain its efficiency, and to
enforce its decrees. It may here be mentioned that the overt act which
was the last round on the fatal ladder leading to the scaffold on which
Slade perished, was the tearing in pieces and stamping upon a writ of
this court, followed by his arrest of the Judge Alex. Davis, by
authority of a presented Derringer, and with his own hands.
J. A. Slade was himself, we have been informed, a Vigilante; he openly
boasted of it, and said he knew all that they knew. He was never
accused, or even suspected, of either murder or robbery, committed in
this Territory (the latter crime was never laid to his charge, in any
place); but that he had killed several men in other localities was
notorious, and his bad reputation in this respect was a most powerful
argument in determining his fate, when he was finally arrested for the
offence above mentioned. On returning from Milk River he became more and
more addicted to drinking, until at last it was a common feat for him
and his friends to “take the town.” He and a couple of his dependents
might often be seen on one horse, galloping through the streets,
shouting and yelling, firing revolvers, etc. On many occasions he would
ride his horse into stores, break up bars, toss the scales out of doors
and use most insulting language to parties present. Just previous to the
day of his arrest, he had given a fearful beating to one of his
followers; but such was his influence over them that the man wept
bitterly at the gallows, and begged for his life with all his power. It
had become quite common, when Slade was on a spree, for the shop-keepers
and citizens to close the stores and put out all the lights; being
fearful of some outrage at his hands. For his wanton destruction of
goods and furniture, he was always ready to pay, when sober, if he had
money; but there were not a few who regarded payment as small
satisfaction for the outrage, and these men were his personal enemies.
From time to time Slade received warnings from men that he well knew
would not deceive him, of the certain end of his conduct. There was not
a moment, for weeks previous to his arrest, in which the public did not
expect to hear of some bloody outrage. The dread of his very name, and
the presence of the armed band of hangers-on who followed him alone
prevented a resistance which must certainly have ended in the instant
murder or mutilation of the opposing party.
Slade was frequently arrested by order of the court whose organization
we have described, and had treated it with respect by paying one or two
fines and promising to pay the rest when he had money; but in the
transaction that occurred at this crisis, he forgot even this caution,
and goaded by passion and the hatred of restraint, he sprang into the
embrace of death.
Slade had been drunk and “cutting up” all night. He and his companions
had made the town a perfect hell. In the morning, J. M. Fox, the
sheriff, met him, arrested him, took him into court and commenced
reading a warrant that he had for his arrest, by way of arraignment. He
became uncontrollably furious, and seizing the writ, he tore it up,
threw it on the ground and stamped upon it.
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The clicking of the locks of his companions’ revolvers was instantly
heard, and a crisis was expected. The sheriff did not attempt his
retention; but being at least as prudent as he was valiant, he
succumbed, leaving Slade the master of the situation and the conqueror
and ruler of the courts, law and law-makers. This was a declaration of
war, and was so accepted. The Vigilance Committee now felt that the
question of social order and the preponderance of the law-abiding
citizens had then and there to be decided. They knew the character of
Slade, and they were well aware that they must submit to his rule
without murmur, or else that he must be dealt with in such fashion as
would prevent his being able to wreak his vengeance on the committee,
who could never have hoped to live in the Territory secure from outrage
or death, and who could never leave it without encountering his friends,
whom his victory would have emboldened and stimulated to a pitch that
would have rendered them reckless of consequences. The day previous he
had ridden into Dorris’s store, and on being requested to leave, he drew
his revolver and threatened to kill the gentleman who spoke to him.
Another saloon he had led his horse into, and buying a bottle of wine,
he tried to make the animal drink it. This was not considered an
uncommon performance, as he had often entered saloons and commenced
firing at the lamps, causing a wild stampede.
A leading member of the committee met Slade, and informed him in the
quiet, earnest manner of one who feels the importance of what he is
saying: “Slade, get your horse at once, and go home, or there will
be——to pay.” Slade started and took a long look, with his dark and
piercing eyes, at the gentleman. “What do you mean?” said he. “You have
no right to ask me what I mean,” was the quiet reply, “get your horse at
once, and remember what I tell you.” After a short pause he promised to
do so, and actually got into the saddle; but, being still intoxicated,
he began calling aloud to one after another of his friends, and at last
seemed to have forgotten the warning he had received and became again
uproarious, shouting the name of a well-known courtezan in company with
those of two men whom he considered heads of the committee, as a sort of
challenge; perhaps, however, as a simple act of bravado. It seems
probable that the intimation of personal danger he had received had not
been forgotten entirely; though fatally for him, he took a foolish way
of showing his remembrance of it. He sought out Alexander Davis, the
Judge of the Court, and drawing a cocked Derringer, he presented it at
his head, and told him that he should hold him as a hostage for his own
safety. As the judge stood perfectly quiet, and offered no resistance to
his captor, no further outrage followed on this score. Previous to this,
on account of the critical state of affairs, the committee had met, and
at last resolved to arrest him. His execution had not been agreed upon,
and, at that time, would have been negatived, most assuredly. A
messenger rode down to Nevada to inform the leading men of what was on
hand, as it was desirable to show that there was a feeling of unanimity
on the subject, all along the gulch.
The miners turned out almost en masse, leaving their work and forming in
solid column about six hundred strong, armed to the teeth, they marched
up to Virginia. The leader of the body well knew the temper of his men
on the subject. He spurred on ahead of them, and hastily calling a
meeting of the executive, he told them plainly that the miners meant
“business,” and that, if they came up, they would not stand in the
street to be shot down by Slade’s friends; but that they would take him
and hang him. The meeting was small, as the Virginia men were loath to
act at all. This momentous announcement of the feeling of the Lower Town
was made to a cluster of men, who were deliberating behind a wagon, at
the rear of a store on Main street.
The committee were most unwilling to proceed to extremities. All the
duty they had ever performed seemed as nothing to the task before them;
but they had to decide, and that quickly. It was finally agreed that if
the whole body of the miners were of the opinion that he should be
hanged, that the committee left it in their hands to deal with him. Off,
at hot speed, rode the leader of the Nevada men to join his command.
Slade had found out what was intended, and the news sobered him
instantly. He went into P. S. Pfouts’ store, where Davis was, and
apologized for his conduct, saying that he would take it all back.
The head of the column now wheeled into Wallace street and marched up at
quick time. Halting in front of the store, the executive officer of the
committee stepped forward and arrested Slade, who was at once informed
of his doom, and inquiry was made as to whether he had any business to