Test Bank for Calculus for Scientists and Engineers 1st Edition by Briggs

Cochran and Gillett ISBN 0321826698 9780321826695

Full link download
Test Bank:
https://testbankpack.com/p/test-bank-for-calculus-for-scientists-and-
engineers-1st-edition-by-briggs-cochran-and-gillett-isbn-0321826698-
9780321826695-2/

Solution Manual:
https://testbankpack.com/p/solution-manual-for-calculus-for-scientists-and-
engineers-1st-edition-by-briggs-cochran-and-gillett-isbn-0321826698-
9780321826695/

MULTIPLE CHOICE. Choose the one alternative that best completes the statement or answers the question.
Find the average velocity of the function over the given interval.
2
1) y = x + 6x, [6, 9] 1)
A) 21 B) 15 C) 45 D) 7
3 2
2) y = 3x - 8x + 6, [-8, 5] 2)
C) 2223
A)
18113 B) 171 5
D) 181
5

3) y = 2x, [2, 8] 3)
13 B) 7 C) 2 3
A) D) -10
3
4) y = x - 2 , [4, 7] 4)
1
B) -103 C) 2
A) 3 D) 7

7 5)
5) y = 4x2, 0, 4

1 3
A) 2 B) C) - D) 7
3 10
2
6) y = -3x - x, [5, 6] 6)
1
A) -34 1 C) -2
B)- 6 D) 2

7) h(t) = sin (4t), 0,

π8 7)
π
8
A) π B)- π
8 C) 8 D) π4

8) g(t) = 3 + tan t, -
π4 , 4π 8)

A) π
4 8 C) 0 4
B)- 5 D) - π
Use the table to find the instantaneous velocity of y at the specified value of x.
9) x = 1. 9)

x y
00
0.2 0.02
0.4 0.08
0.6 0.18
0.8 0.32
1.0 0.5
1.2 0.72
1.4 0.98
A) 2 B) 0.5 C) 1 D) 1.5
10) x = 1. 10)

x y
0 0
0.2 0.01
0.4 0.04
0.6 0.09
0.8 0.16
1.0 0.25
1.2 0.36
1.4 0.49
A) 1 B) 0.5 C) 1.5 D) 2
11) x = 1. 11)

x y
0 0
0.2 0.12
0.4 0.48
0.6 1.08
0.8 1.92
1.0 3
1.2 4.32
1.4 5.88
A) 4 B) 2 C) 6 D) 8
 12) x = 2. 12)

x y
0 10
0.5 38
1.0 58
1.5 70
2.0 74
2.5 70
3.0 58
3.5 38
4.0 10
A) 4 B) 8 C) 0 D) -8
13) x = 1. 13)

x y
0.900 -0.05263
0.990 -0.00503
0.999 -0.0005
1.000 0.0000
1.001 0.0005
1.010 0.00498
1.100 0.04762

A) 0 B) -0.5 C) 1 D) 0.5

Find the slope of the curve for the given value of x.

2
14) y = x + 5x, x = 4 14)
4
B) slope is 13 C) slope is -39 D) slope is 1
A) slope is - 25 20

2
15) y = x + 11x - 15, x = 1 A)
1
4 B) slope is 15)
slope is - 25
20
C) slope is 13 D) slope is -39
16) y = x3 - 5x, x = 1 A) 16)
slope is -3 B) slope is 1 C) slope is 3 D) slope is -2

3
17) y = x - 3x + 4, x = 1
2
17)
A) slope is 0 B) slope is --3 C) slope is -3 D) slope is 1

18) y = 2 - x , x = 1
3
18)
A) slope is 0 B) slope is -3 C) slope is -1 D) slope is 3
Solve the problem.
19) Given lim f(x) = Ll, lim f(x) = Lr, and Ll ≠ Lr, which of the following statements is true? 19)
- +
x→0 x→0

I. lim f(x) = Ll
x→0
II. lim f(x) = Lr
x→0
III. lim f(x) does not exist.
x→0
A) I B) none C) II D) III
20) Given lim f(x) = Ll, lim f(x) = Lr , and Ll = Lr, which of the following statements is false? 20)
- +
x→0 x→0

I. lim f(x) = Ll
x→0
II. lim f(x) = Lr
x→0
III. lim f(x) does not exist.
x→0
A) I B) II C) III D) none
21) If lim f(x) = L, which of the following expressions are true?
21)
x→0
I. lim f(x) does not exist.
-
x→0
II. lim f(x) does not exist.
+
x→0
III. lim
x→0 - f(x) = L
IV. lim
x→0 + f(x) = L
A) II and III only B) III and IV only C) I and II only D) I and IV only
22) What conditions, when present, are sufficient to conclude that a function f(x) has a limit as x
approaches some value of a? 22)
A) Either the limit of f(x) as x→a from the left exists or the limit of f(x) as x→a from the right
exists
B) The limit of f(x) as x→a from the left exists, the limit of f(x) as x→a from the right exists, and at
least one of these limits is the same as f(a).
C) f(a) exists, the limit of f(x) as x→a from the left exists, and the limit of f(x) as x→a from the
right exists.
D) The limit of f(x) as x→a from the left exists, the limit of f(x) as x→a from the right exists, and
these two limits are the same.
Use the graph to evaluate the limit.
23) lim f(x) 23)
x→-1

-6 -5 -4 -3 -2 -1 123456 x

-1

3
A) -1 B) - 3 C) ∞ D)
4 4
24) lim f(x) 24)
x→0

y
4

-4 -3 -2 -1 1 2 3 4 x
-1

-2

-3
-4

A) does not exist B) 3 C)-3 D)0

Another document from Scribd.com that is
random and unrelated content:
 CHAPTER XVIII.
THE ARREST AND EXECUTION OF HENRY
PLUMMER, THE ROAD AGENT CHIEF, BUCK
STINSON AND NED RAY.

United there that trio died,

By deeds of crime and blood allied.
At dusk, three horses were brought into town, belonging severally and
respectively to the three marauders so often mentioned, Plummer,
Stinson and Ray. It was truly conjectured that they had determined to
leave the country, and it was at once settled that they should be arrested
that night. Parties were detailed for the work. Those entrusted with the
duty, performed it admirably. Plummer was undressing when taken at his
house. His pistol (a self-cocking weapon) was broken and useless. Had
he been armed, resistance would have been futile; for he was seized the
moment the door was opened in answer to the knocking from without.
Stinson was arrested at Toland’s, where he was spending the evening. He
would willingly have done a little firing, but his captors were too quick
for him. Ray was lying on a gaming table, when seized. The three details
marched their men to a given point, en route to the gallows. Here a halt
was made. The leader of the Vigilantes and some others, who wished to
save all unnecessary hard feeling, were sitting in a cabin, designing not
to speak to Plummer, with whom they were so well acquainted. A halt
was made, however, and, at the door, appeared Plummer. The light was
extinguished; when the party moved on, but soon halted. The crisis had
come. Seeing that the circumstances were such as admitted of neither
vacillation nor delay, the citizen leader, summoning his friends, went up
to the party and gave the military command, “Company! forward—
march!” This was at once obeyed. A rope taken from a noted
functionary’s bed had been mislaid and could not be found. A nigger boy
was sent off for some of that highly necessary, but unpleasant remedy for
crime, and the bearer made such good time that some hundreds of feet of
hempen neck-tie were on the ground before the arrival of the party at the
gallows. On the road, Plummer heard the voice and recognized the
person of the leader. He came to him and begged for his life; but was
told, “It is useless for you to beg for your life; that affair is settled and
cannot be altered. You are to be hanged. You cannot feel harder about it
than I do; but I cannot help it, if I would.” Ned Ray, clothed with curses
as with a garment, actually tried fighting, but found that he was in the
wrong company for such demonstrations; and Buck Stinson made the air
ring with the blasphemous and filthy expletives which he used in
addressing his captors. Plummer exhausted every argument and plea that
his imagination could suggest, in order to induce his captors to spare his
life. He begged to be chained down in the meanest cabin; offered to
leave the country forever; wanted a jury trial; implored time to settle his
affairs; asked to see his sister-in-law, and, falling on his knees, with tears
and sighs declared to God that he was too wicked to die. He confessed
his numerous murders and crimes, and seemed almost frantic at the
prospect of death.
The first rope being thrown over the cross-beam, and the noose being
rove, the order was given to “Bring up Ned Ray.” This desperado was
run up with curses on his lips. Being loosely pinioned, he got his fingers
between the rope and his neck, and thus prolonged his misery.
Buck Stinson saw his comrade robber swinging in the death agony,
and blubbered out, “There goes poor Ed Ray.” Scant mercy had he
shown to his numerous victims. By a sudden twist of his head at the
moment of his elevation, the knot slipped under his chin, and he was
some minutes dying.
The order to “Bring up Plummer” was then passed and repeated; but
no one stirred. The leader went over to this , as his
friends called him, and was met by a request to “Give a man time to
pray.” Well knowing that Plummer relied for a rescue upon other than
Divine aid, he said briefly and decidedly, “Certainly; but let him say his
prayers up here.” Finding all efforts to avoid death were useless,
Plummer rose and said no more prayers. Standing under the gallows
which he had erected for the execution of Horan, this second Haman
slipped off his neck-tie and threw it over his shoulder to a young friend
who had boarded at his house, and who believed him innocent of crime,
saying as he tossed it to him, “Here is something to remember me by.” In
the extremity of his grief, the young man threw himself weeping and
wailing, upon the ground. Plummer requested that the men would give
him a good drop, which was done, as far as circumstances permitted, by
hoisting him up as high as possible, in their arms, and letting him fall
suddenly. He died quickly and without much struggle.
 It was necessary to seize Ned Ray’s hand and by a violent effort to
draw his fingers from between the noose and his neck before he died.
Probably he was the last to expire, of the guilty trio.
The news of a man’s being hanged flies faster than any other
intelligence, in a Western country, and several had gathered round the
gallows on that fatal Sabbath evening—many of them friends of the
Road Agents. The spectators were allowed to come up to a certain point,
and were then halted by the guard, who refused permission either to
depart or to approach nearer than the “dead line,” on pain of their being
instantly shot.
The weather was intensely cold; but the party stood for a long time
round the bodies of the suspended malefactors, determined that rescue
should be impossible.
Loud groans and cries uttered in the vicinity, attracted their attention,
and a small squad started in the direction from which the sound
proceeded. The detachment soon met Madam Hall, a noted courtezan—
the mistress of Ned Ray—who was “Making night hideous” with her
doleful wailings. Being at once stopped, she began inquiring for her
paramour, and was thus informed of his fate, “Well if you must know, he
is hung.” A volcanic eruption of oaths and abuse was her reply to this
information; but the men were on “short time,” and escorted her towards
her dwelling without superfluous display of courtesy. Having arrived at
the brow of a short descent, at the foot of which stood her cabin,
necessity compelled a rapid and final progress in that direction.
Soon after, the party formed and returned to town, leaving the corpses
stiffening in the icy blast. The bodies were eventually cut down by the
friends of the Road Agents and buried. The “Reign of Terror,” in
Bannack, was over.
 CHAPTER XIX.
THE EXECUTION OF “THE GREASER” (JOE
PIZANTHIA,) AND DUTCH JOHN, (WAGNER.)

Hope withering fled, and mercy sighed, farewell.—C .

A marked change in the tone of public sentiment was the consequence
of the hanging of the blood-stained criminals whose deserved fate is
recorded in the preceding chapters. Men breathed freely; for Plummer
and Stinson especially were dreaded by almost every one. The latter was
of the type of that brutal desperado whose formula of introduction to a
Western bar-room is so well known in the Mountains: “Whoop! I’m from
Pike County, Missouri; I’m ten feet high; my abode is where lewd
women and licentious men mingle; my parlor is the Rocky Mountains. I
smell like a wolf. I drink water out of a brook, like a horse. Look out you
——, I’m going to turn loose,” etc. A fit mate for such a God-forgotten
outlaw was Stinson, and he, with the oily and snake-like demon,
Plummer, the wily, red-handed, and politely merciless chief, and the
murderer and robber, Ray, were no more. The Vigilantes organized
rapidly. Public opinion sustained them.
On Monday morning, it was determined to arrest “the Greaser,” Joe
Pizanthia, and to see precisely how his record stood in the Territory.
Outside of it, it was known that he was a desperado, a murderer and a
robber; but that was not the business of the Vigilantes. A party started for
his cabin, which was built in a side-hill. The interior looked darker than
usual, from the bright glare of the surrounding snow. The summons to
come forth being disregarded, Smith Ball and George Copley entered,
contrary to the advice of their comrades, and instantly received the fire
of their concealed foe. Copley was shot through the breast. Smith Ball
received a bullet in the hip. They both staggered out, each ejaculating,
“I’m shot.” Copley was led off by two friends, and died of his wound.
Smith Ball recovered himself, and was able to empty his six-shooter into
the body of the assassin, when the latter was dragged forth.
The popular excitement rose nearly to madness. Copley was a much
esteemed citizen, and Smith Ball had many friends. It was the instant
resolution of all present that the vengeance on the Greaser should be
summary and complete.
A party whose military experience was still fresh in their memory,
made a rush at the double-quick, for a mountain howitzer, which lay
dismounted, where it had been left by the train to which it was attached.
Without waiting to place it on the carriage, it was brought by willing
hands, to within five rods of the windowless side of the cabin, and some
old artillerists, placing it on a box, loaded it with shell, and laid it for the
building. By one of those omissions so common during times of
excitement, the fuse was left uncut, and, being torn out in its passage
through the logs, the missile never exploded, but left a clean breach
through the wall, making the chips fly. A second shell was put into the
gun, and this time, the fuse was cut, but the range was so short that the
explosion took place after it had traversed the house.
Thinking that Pizanthia might have taken refuge in the chimney, the
howitzer was pointed for it, and sent a solid shot through it. Meanwhile
the military judgment of the leader had been shown by the posting of
some riflemen opposite the shot-hole, with instructions to maintain so
rapid a fire upon it, that the beleaguered inmate should not be able to use
it as a crenelle through which to fire upon the assailants. No response
being given to the cannon and small-arms, the attacking party began to
think of storming the dwelling.
The leader called for volunteers to follow him. Nevada cast in her lot
first, and men from the crowd joined. The half dozen stormers moved
steadily, under cover, to the edge of the last building, and then dashed at
the house, across the open space. The door had fallen from the effects of
the fusilade; but, peeping in, they could see nothing, until a sharp eye
noticed the Greaser’s boots protruding. Two lifted the door, while Smith
Ball drew his revolver and stood ready. The remainder seized the boots.
On lifting the door, Pizanthia was found lying flat, and badly hurt. His
revolver was beside him. He was quickly dragged out, Smith Ball paying
him for the wound he had received by emptying his revolver into him.
A clothes line was taken down and fastened round his neck; the leader
climbed a pole, and the rest holding up the body, he wound the rope
round the top of the stick of timber, making a jam hitch. While aloft,
fastening all securely, the crowd blazed away upon the murderer
swinging beneath his feet. At his request—“Say, boys! stop shooting a
minute”—the firing ceased, and he came down by the run. Over one
hundred shots were discharged at the swaying corpse.
A friend—one of the four B —touched the leader’s
arm, and said, “Come and see my bon-fire.” Walking down to the cabin,
he found that it had been razed to the ground by the maddened people,
and was then in a bright glow of flame. A proposition to burn the
Mexican was received with a shout of exultation. The body was hauled
down and thrown upon the pile, upon which it was burned to ashes so
completely that not a trace of a bone could be seen when the fire burned
out.
In the morning some women of ill-fame actually panned out the ashes,
to see whether the desperado had any gold in his purse. We are glad to
say that they were not rewarded for their labors by striking any
auriferous deposit.
The popular vengeance had been only partially satisfied, so far as
Pizanthia was concerned; and it would be well if those who preach
against the old Vigilance Committee would reflect upon the great
difference which existed between the prompt and really necessary
severity which they exercised and the wild and ungovernable passion
which goads the masses of all countries, when roused to deeds of
vengeance of a type so fearful, that humanity recoils at the recital. Over
and over again, we have heard a man declaring that it was “A ——
shame,” to hang some one that he wished to see punished. “——, he
ought to be burnt; I would pack brush three miles up a mountain myself.”
“He ought to be fried in his own grease,” etc., and it must not be
supposed that such expressions were mere idle bravado. The men said
just what they meant. In cases where criminals convicted of grand
larceny have been whipped, it has never yet happened that the
punishment has satisfied the crowd. The truth is, that the Vigilance
Committee simply punished with death, men unfit to live in any
community, and that death was, usually, almost instantaneous, and only
momentarily painful. With the exceptions recorded (Stinson and Ray) the
drop and the death of the victim seemed simultaneous. In a majority of
cases, a few almost imperceptible muscular contortions, not continuing
over a few seconds, were all that the keenest observer could detect;
whereas, had their punishment been left to outsiders, the penalty would
have been cruel and disgusting in the highest degree. What would be
thought of the burning of Wagner and panning out his ashes,
V . In every case where men have confessed their
crimes to the Vigilantes of Montana, they dreaded the vengeance of their
comrades far more than their execution at the hands of the Committee,
and clung to them as if they considered them friends.
A remarkable instance of this kind was apparent in the conduct of
John Wagner. While in custody at the cabin, on Yankee Flat, the sound of
footsteps and suppressed voices was heard, in the night. Fetherstun
jumped up, determined to defend himself and his prisoner to the last.
Having prepared his arms, he cast a look over his shoulder to see what
Dutch John was doing. The Road Agent stood with a double-barrelled
gun in his hand, evidently watching for a chance to do battle on behalf of
his captor. Fetherstun glanced approvingly at him, and said, “That’s
right, John, give them ——.” John smiled grimly and nodded, the
muzzle of his piece following the direction of the sound, and his dark
eyes glaring like those of a roused lion. Had he wished, he could have
shot Fetherstun in the back, without either difficulty or danger. Probably
the assailants heard the ticking of the locks of the pieces, in the still
night, and therefore determined not to risk such an attack, which savages
of all kinds especially dislike.
The evening after the death of Pizanthia, the newly organized
Committee met, and, after some preliminary discussion, a vote was taken
as to the fate of Dutch John. The result was that his execution was
unanimously adjudged, as the only penalty meeting the merits of the
case. He had been a murderer and a highway robber, for years.
One of the number present at the meeting was deputed to convey the
intelligence to Wagner; and, accordingly, he went down to his place of
confinement and read to him his sentence of death, informing him that he
would be hanged in an hour from that time. Wagner was much shocked
by the news. He raised himself to his feet and walked with agitated and
tremulous steps across the floor, once or twice. He begged hard for life,
praying them to cut off his arms and legs, and then to let him go. He
said, “You know I could do nothing then.” He was informed that his
request could not be complied with, and that he must prepare to die.
Finding death to be inevitable, Wagner summoned his fortitude to his
aid and showed no more signs of weakness. It was a matter of regret that
he could not be saved for his courage, and (outside of his villainous
trade) his good behaviour won upon his captors and judges to an extent
that they were unwilling to admit, even to themselves. Amiability and
bravery could not be taken as excuses for murder and robbery, and so
Dutch John had to meet a felon’s death and the judgment to come, with
but short space for repentance.
He said that he wished to send a letter to his mother, in New York, and
inquired whether there was not a Dutchman in the house, who could
write in his native language. A man being procured qualified as desired,
he communicated his wishes to him and his amanuensis wrote as
directed. Wagner’s fingers were rolled up in rags and he could not handle
the pen without inconvenience and pain. He had not recovered from the
frost-bites which had moved the pity of X. Beidler when he met John
before his capture, below Red Rock. The epistle being finished, it was
read aloud by the scribe; but it did not please Wagner. He pointed out
several inaccuracies in the method of carrying out his instructions, both
as regarded the manner and the matter of the communication; and at last,
unrolling the rags from his fingers, he sat down and wrote the missive
himself.
He told his mother that he was condemned to die, and had but a few
minutes to live; that when coming over from the other side, to deal in
horses; he had been met by bad men, who had forced him to adopt the
line of life that had placed him in his present miserable position; that the
crime for which he was sentenced to die was assisting in robbing a
wagon, in which affair he had been wounded and taken prisoner, and that
his companion had been killed. (This latter assertion he probably
believed.) He admitted the justice of his sentence.
The letter, being concluded, was handed to the Vigilantes for
transmission to his mother. He then quietly replaced the bandages on his
wounded fingers. The style of the composition showed that he was
neither terrified nor even disturbed at the thought of the fast approaching
and disgraceful end of his guilty life. The statements were positively
untrue, in many particulars, and he seemed to write only as a matter of
routine duty; though we may hope that his affection for his mother was,
at least, genuine.
He was marched from the place of his confinement to an unfinished
building, where the bodies of Stinson and Plummer were laid out—the
one on the floor and the other on a work bench. Ray’s corpse had been
handed over to his mistress, at her special request. The doomed man
gazed without shrinking on the remains of the malefactors, and asked
leave to pray. This was of course, granted, and he knelt down. His lips
moved rapidly; but he uttered no word audibly. On rising to his feet, he
continued, apparently to pray, looking round, however, upon the
assembled Vigilantes all the time. A rope being thrown over a cross-
beam, a barrel was placed ready for him to stand upon. While the final
preparations were making, the prisoner asked how long it would take
him to die, as he had never seen a man hanged. He was told that it would
be only a short time. The noose was adjusted; a rope was tied round the
head of the barrel and the party took hold. At the word, “All ready,” the
barrel was instantly jerked from beneath his feet, and he swung in the
death agony. His struggles were very powerful, for a short time; so iron a
frame could not quit its hold on life as easily as a less muscular
organization. After hanging till frozen stiff, the body was cut down and
buried decently.
 CHAPTER XX.
THE CAPTURE AND EXECUTION OF BOONE HELM,
JACK GALLAGHER, FRANK PARISH, HAZE LYONS
AND CLUB-FOOT GEORGE (LANE.)

“’Tis joy to see the engineer hoist

With his own petard.”—S .
The effect of the executions noticed in the foregoing chapters, was
both marked and beneficial. There was much to be done, however, to
insure anything like lasting peace to the community. Ives, Yager, Brown,
Plummer, Stinson, Ray, Pizanthia and Wagner were dead; but the five
villains whose names head this chapter, together with Bunton, Zachary,
Marshland, Shears, Cooper, Carter, Graves, Hunter and others were still
at large, and were supported by many others equally guilty, though less
daring and formidable as individuals.
Threats of vengeance had been made, constantly, against the
Vigilantes, and a plot to rob several stores in Virginia had nearly
matured, when it was discovered and prevented. Every man who had
taken part in the pursuit of the criminals whose fate has been recorded,
was marked for slaughter by the desperadoes, and nothing remained but
to carry out the good work so auspiciously begun, by a vigorous and
unhesitating severity, which should know no relaxation until the last
blood-stained miscreant that could be captured had met a felon’s doom.
On the evening of the 13th of January, 1864, the Executive
Committee, in solemn conclave assembled, determined on hanging six of
them forthwith. One of the doomed men—Bill Hunter—suspecting
danger, managed to crawl away, along a drain-ditch, through the line of
pickets that surrounded the town, and made his escape. He was badly
frozen by exposure to the cold, and before his capture, was discovered by
J. A. Slade, while lying concealed under a bed at a ranch, and told that
the Vigilantes were after him, which information caused him to move his
quarters to Gallatin valley, where he was caught and executed soon after,
as will appear in the course of this narrative.
 While the Committee were deliberating in secret, a small party of the
men who were at that moment receiving sentence of death, were
gathered in an upper room at a gambling house, and engaged in betting at
faro. Jack Gallagher suddenly remarked, “While we are here betting,
those Vigilante sons of —— are passing sentence on us.” This is
considered to be the most remarkable and most truthful saying of his
whole life; but he might be excused telling the truth once, as it was
entirely accidental.
Express messengers were sent to warn the men of the neighboring
towns, in the gulch, and the summons was instantly obeyed.
Morning came—the last on earth that the five desperadoes should ever
behold. The first rays of light showed the pickets of the Vigilantes
stationed on every eminence and point of vantage round the city. The
news flew like lightning through the town. Many a guilty heart quaked
with just fear, and many an assassin’s lip turned pale and quivered with
irrepressible terror. The detachments of Vigilantes, with compressed lips
and echoing footfall, marched in from Nevada, Junction, Summit, Pine
Grove, Highland and Fairweather, and halted in a body in Main street.
Parties were immediately detailed for the capture of the Road Agents,
and all succeeded in their mission, except the one which went after Bill
Hunter, who had escaped.
Frank Parish was brought in first. He was arrested without trouble, in a
store, and seemed not to expect death. He took the executive officer one
side, and asked, “What am I arrested for?” He was told, “For being a
Road Agent and thief, and accessory to the murders and robberies on the
road.” At first he pleaded innocent; but at last he confessed his
complicity with the gang, and admitted being one of the party that
robbed the coach between Bannack and Virginia, and that he was guilty
of stealing horses and stock for them. He used to butcher stolen cattle,
and attend to the commissariat business. He gave some directions about
articles of clothing belonging to him, and the settlement of some debts.
Until his confession, it was not known that he had any share in the
robbery of the coach.
Club-Foot George (George Lane) was arrested at Dance & Stuart’s. He
was living there, and working at odd times. He was perfectly cool and
collected, and inquired the reason of his arrest, as Parish had done
previously. On receiving the same answer, he appeared surprised, and
said, “If you hang me you will hang an innocent man.” He was told that
the proof was positive, and that if he had any preparation to make he
must do it at once, as his sentence was death. He appeared penitent and
sat down for some time, covering his face with his hands. He then asked
for a minister, and one being immediately sent for, he talked and prayed
with him till the procession to the gallows was formed. In his pocket-
book was found an extract from a western newspaper, stating that George
Lane, the notorious horse-thief, was Sheriff of Montana. Lane was a man
of iron nerve; he seemed to think no more of the hanging than a man
would of eating his breakfast.
Boone Helm was brought in next. He had been arrested in front of the
Virginia Hotel. Two or three were detailed for his capture of whom he
would entertain no suspicion, and they played their part, apparently, so
carelessly and well, that he was seized without being able to make any
effort at resistance. A man at each arm, and one behind, with a cocked
revolver, brought him to the rendezvous. He lamented greatly that he
“had no show” when taken, as he said, “They would have had a gay old
time taking me, if I had known what they were after.” His right hand was
in a sling. He quietly sat down on a bench, and on being made
acquainted with his doom, he declared his entire innocence. He said, “I
am as innocent as the babe unborn; I never killed any one, or robbed or
defrauded any man; I am willing to swear it on the Bible.” Anxious to
see if he was really so abandoned a villain as to swear this, the book was
handed to him, and he, with the utmost solemnity, repeated an oath to
that effect, invoking most terrific penalties on his soul, in case he was
swearing falsely. He kissed the book most impressively. He then
addressed a gentleman, and asked him to go into a private room.
Thinking that Boone wanted him to pray with him, he proposed to send
for a clergyman; but Boone said, “You’ll do.” On reaching the inner
room, the prisoner said, “Is there no way of getting out of this?” Being
told that there was not, and that he must die, he said, “Well, then, I’ll tell
you, I did kill a man named Shoot, in Missouri, and I got away to the
West; and I killed another chap in California. When I was in Oregon I
got into jail, and dug my way out with tools that my squaw gave me.”
Being asked if he would not tell what he knew about the gang, he said,
“Ask Jack Gallagher; he knows more than I do.” Jack, who was behind a
partition, heard him, and burst out into a volley of execrations, saying
that it was just such cowardly sons of —— and traitors that had brought
him into that scrape.
 Helm was the most hardened, cool and deliberate scoundrel of the
whole band, and murder was a mere pastime to him. He killed Mr. Shoot,
in Missouri, (as will be afterwards narrated,) and testimony of the most
conclusive character, showed that his hands were steeped in blood, both
in Idaho and since his coming to the Territory. Finding that all his
asseverations and pleas availed him nothing, he said, “I have dared death
in all its forms, and I do not fear to die.” He called repeatedly for
whiskey, and had to be reprimanded several times for his unseemly
conduct.
The capture of Lyons, though unattended with danger, was affected
only by great shrewdness. He had been boarding at the Arbor Restaurant,
near the “Shades.” The party went in. The owner said he was not there,
but that they might search if they liked. The search was made, and was
ineffectual. He had left in the morning. During the search for Lyons, Jack
Gallagher was found, in a gambling room, rolled up in bedding, with his
shot-gun and revolver beside him. He was secured too quickly to use his
weapons, if, indeed he had had the courage; but his heart failed him, for
he knew that his time was come. He was then taken to the place of
rendezvous.
In the meantime the other party went after Haze Lyons, and found that
he had crossed the hill, beyond the point overhanging Virginia, and, after
making a circuit of three miles through the mountains, he had come back
to within a quarter of a mile of the point, from which he started to a
miner’s cabin, on the west side of the gulch, above town. At the double-
quick, the pursuers started, the moment they received the information.
The leader threw open the door, and bringing down his revolver to a
present, said, “Throw up your hands.” Lyons had a piece of hot slapjack
on his fork; but dropped it instantly, and obeyed the order. He was told to
step out. This he did at once. He was in his shirt-sleeves, and asked for
his coat which was given to him. He was so nervous that he could hardly
get his arms into it. A rigid search for weapons was made; but he had just
before taken off his belt and revolver, laying them on the bed. He said
that that was the first meal he had sat down to with any appetite, for six
weeks. Being told to finish his dinner, he thanked the captain, but said he
could eat no more. He then inquired what was going to be done with
him, and whether they would hang him. The captain said, “I am not here
to promise you anything; prepare for the worst.” He said, “My friends
advised me to leave here, two or three days ago.” The captain asked why
he did not go. He replied that he had “done nothing, and did not want to
go.” (He was one of the murderers of Dillingham, in June, ’63, and was
sentenced to death, but spared, as before related.) The real reason for his
stay, was his attachment for a woman in town, whose gold watch he
wore when he died on the scaffold. He was asked if he had heard of the
execution of Plummer, Buck Stinson and Ned Ray. He replied that he
had; but that he did not believe it. He was informed that it was true in the
following words, “You may bet your sweet life on it.” He then inquired,
“Did they fight?” and was informed that they did not; for that they had
not any opportunity. By this time they had arrived at the rendezvous, and
Lyons found himself confronted by some familiar faces.
Jack Gallagher came in swearing, and appeared to be inclined to
pretend that the affair was a joke, asking, “What the —— is it all about?”
and saying, “This is a pretty break ain’t it?” Being informed of his
sentence, he appeared much affected, and sat down, crying; after which
he jumped up, cursing in the most ferocious manner, and demanded who
had informed of him. He was told that it was “Red, who was hung at
Stinkingwater.” He cursed him with every oath he could think of. He said
to himself, “My God! must I die in this way?” His general conduct and
profanity were awful; and he was frequently rebuked by the chief of the
executive.
Haze Lyons was last fetched in, and acquainted with his sentence. He,
of course, pleaded innocent, in the strongest terms; but he had confessed
to having murdered Dillingham, to a captain of one of the squads of the
guard, in the presence of several witnesses; and he was a known Road
Agent. He gave some directions for letters to be written, and begged to
see his mistress; but warned by the experiment of the previous year, his
request was denied.
The chief dispatched an officer, with fifteen men, who went at the
double-quick to Highland District, where two suspicious looking
characters had gone, with blankets on their backs, the evening before,
and making the “surround” of the cabin, the usual greeting of “throw up
your hands,” enforced by a presented revolver, was instantly obeyed, and
they were marched down after being disarmed. The evidence not being
conclusive, they were released though their guilt was morally certain.
The Vigilantes rigidly abstained, in all cases, from inflicting the penalty
due to crime, without entirely satisfactory evidence of guilt.
After all was arranged for hanging them, the prisoners were ordered to
stand in a row, facing the guard, and were informed that they were about
to be marched to the place of execution. Being asked if they had any
requests to prefer, as that would be their last opportunity, they said they
had none to make. They were then asked if they had anything to
communicate, either of their own deeds or their comrade Road Agents;
but they all refused to make any confession. The guard were ordered to
pinion their prisoners. Jack Gallagher swore he would never be hung in
public; and drawing his knife he clapped the blade to his neck, saying
that he would cut his throat first. The executive officer instantly cocked
his pistol, and told him that if he made another movement, he would
shoot him, and ordered the guard to disarm him. One of them seized his
wrist and took the knife, after which he was pinioned, cursing horribly
all the time. Boon Helm was encouraging Jack, telling him not to “make
a —— fool of himself,” as there was no use in being afraid to die.
The chief called upon men that could be depended upon, to take
charge of the prisoners to the place of execution. The plan adopted was
to march the criminals, previously pinioned, each between two
Vigilantes, who grasped an arm of the prisoner with one hand, and held
in the other a “Navy”—ready for instant use. When Haze Lyons heard
the order above mentioned, he called out, “X, I want you to come and
stay with me till I die,” which reasonable request was at once complied
with.
The criminals were marched into the center of a hollow square, which
was flanked by four ranks of Vigilantes, and a column in front and rear,
armed with shot guns and rifles carried at a half present, ready to fire at a
moments warning, completed the array. The pistol men were dispersed
through the crowd to attend to the general deportment of outsiders, or, as
a good man observed, to take the roughs “out of the wet.”
At the word “march!” the party started forward, and halted, with
military precision, in front of the Virginia Hotel. The halt was made
while the ropes were preparing at the unfinished building, now Clayton
& Hale’s Drug Store, at the corner of Wallace and Van Buren streets. The
logs were up to the square, but there was no roof. The main beam for the
support of the roof, which runs across the center of the building, was
used as a gallows, the rope being thrown over it, and then taken to the
rear and fastened round some of the bottom logs. Five boxes were placed
immediately under the beam, as substitutes for drops.
The prisoners were, during this time, in front of the Virginia Hotel.
Club-Foot George called a citizen to him, and asked him to speak as to
his character; but this, the gentleman declined saying, “Your dealings
with me have been right; but what you have done outside of that I do not
know.” Club-Foot then asked him to pray with him, which he did,
kneeling down and offering up a fervent petition to the throne of grace
on his behalf. George and Jack Gallagher knelt. Haze Lyons requested
that his hat should be taken off, which was done. Boone Helm was
cracking jokes all the time. Frank Parish seemed greatly affected at the
near prospect of death. Boone Helm, after the prayer was over, called to
Jack Gallagher, “Jack, give me that coat; you never gave me anything.”
“D—d sight of use you’d have for it,” replied Jack. The two worthies
kept addressing short and pithy remarks to their friends around, such as
“Hallo, Jack, they’ve got me this time;” “Bill, old boy, they’ve got me,
sure,” etc.
Jack called to a man, standing at the windows of the Virginia Hotel,
“Say! I’m going to Heaven! I’ll be there in time to open the gate for you,
old fellow.” Jack wore a very handsome United States cavalry officer’s
overcoat, trimmed with Montana beaver.
Haze begged of his captor that his mistress might see him, but his
prayer was refused. He repeated his request a second time, with the like
result. A friend offered to fetch the woman; but was ordered off; and on
Haze begging for the third time, to see her, he received this answer:
“Haze! emphatically! by G—d, bringing women to the place of
execution played out in ’63.” This settled the matter. The Vigilantes had
not forgotten the scene after the trial of Dillingham’s murderers.
The guard marched at the word to the place of execution; opened
ranks, and the prisoners stepped up on the boxes. Club-Foot George was
at the east side of the house; next to him was Haze Lyons; then Jack
Gallagher and Boone Helm. The box next to the west end of the house
was occupied by Frank Parish. The hats of the prisoners were ordered to
be removed. Club-Foot, who was somewhat slightly pinioned, reached
up to his California hat, and dashed it angrily on the ground. The rest
were taken off by the guards.
The nooses were adjusted by five men, and—all being ready—Jack
Gallagher, as a last request, asked that he might have something to drink,
which, after some demur, was acceded to. Club-Foot George looked
round, and, seeing an old friend clinging to the logs of the building, said,
“Good-bye, old fellow—I’m gone;” and, hearing the order, “Men, do
your duty”—without waiting for his box to be knocked away—he
jumped off, and died in a short time.
Haze stood next; but was left to the last. He was talking all the time,
telling the people that he had a kind mother, and that he had been well
brought up; that he did not expect that it would have come to that; but
that bad company had brought him to it.
Jack Gallagher, while standing on the box, cried all the time, using the
most profane and dreadful language. He said, “I hope that forked
lightning will strike every strangling —— of you.” The box flying from
under his feet, brought his ribaldry and profanity to a close, which
nothing but breaking his neck would ever have done.
Boone Helm, looking coolly at his quivering form, said, “Kick away,
old fellow; I’ll be in Hell with you in a minute.” He probably told the
truth, for once in his life. He then shouted, “Every man for his principles
—hurrah for Jeff Davis! Let her rip!” The sound of his words was
echoed by the twang of the rope.
Frank Parish requested to have a handkerchief tied over his face. His
own black neck-tie, fastened in the Road Agents knot, was taken from
his throat and dropped over his face like a veil. He seemed serious and
quiet, but refused to confess anything more; and was launched into
eternity. A bystander asked the guard who adjusted the rope, “Did you
not feel for the poor man as you put the rope round his neck?” The
Vigilanter, whose friend had been slaughtered by the Road Agents,
regarded his interrogator with a stern look, and answered slowly, “Yes! I
felt for his left ear!”
Haze Lyons seemed to expect a second deliverance from death, up to
the last moment; looking right and left at the swaying bodies of the
desperadoes, his countenance evidently indicating a hope of reprieve.
Finding entreaty useless, he sent word to his mistress that she should get
her gold watch, which he wore, and requested that his dying regards
might be conveyed to her. He expressed a hope that she would see that
his body was taken down, and that it was not left to hang too long. Also
he charged her to see him decently buried. He died, apparently without
pain. The bodies, after hanging for about two hours, were cut down, and
carried to the street, in front of the house, where their friends found
them, and took them away for burial. They sleep on Cemetery Hill,
awaiting, not the justice of man, but the judgment of the last Day.
 The man who dug the graves intended for Stinson and Lyons—after
their sentence of death, for the murder of Dillingham—received no pay,
and the two murderers actually committed an offense revolting to all
notions of decency, in those very graves, in derision of their judges, and
in contempt for their power. The sexton “pro tem” was in the crowd in
front of the gallows where Lyons paid the penalty of his crimes, and said
to him, “I dug your grave once for nothing; this time I’ll be paid, you
bet.” He received his money.
As Jack Gallagher has not been specially referred to, the following
short account of a transaction in which he was engaged, in Virginia City,
is here presented:
Near the end of 1863, Jack Gallagher, who had hitherto occupied the
position in Montana, of a promising desperado—raised himself to the
rank of a “big medicine man,” among the Road Agents, by shooting a
blacksmith, named Jack Temple, as fine a man as could be found among
the trade. He did not kill him; but his good intentions were credited to
him, and he was thenceforth respected as a proved brave. Temple had
been shoeing oxen, and came up to Coleman & Lœb’s saloon, to indulge
in a “Thomas and Jeremiah,” with some friends. Jack Gallagher was
there. A couple of dogs began to fight, and Temple gave one of them a
kick, saying to the dog, “Here, I don’t want you to fight here.” Jack said
there was not a —— there that should kick that dog, and he was able to
whip any man in the room. Temple, who, though not quarrelsome, was as
brave as a lion, went up to him and said, “I’m not going to fight in here;
but if you want a fight so bad, come into the street, and I’ll give you a
‘lay out;’ I’ll fight you a square fight.” He immediately went to the door.
Jack Gallagher, seeing him so nicely planted for a shot, in a narrow door-
way, whipped out his pistol, and fired twice at him. The first ball broke
his wrist. “You must do better than that,” said Temple, “I can whip you
yet.” The words were hardly out of his mouth when the second ball
pierced his neck, and he fell. Gallagher would have finished him where
he lay, but his friends interfered. The unfortunate man said: “Boys carry
me somewhere; I don’t want to die, like a dog, in the street.” He
remained, slowly recovering, but suffering considerably, for several
weeks, and at the execution of Gallagher, he was walking round town,
with his arm in a sling, greatly grieved at the sudden end of his
antagonist. “I wish,” said he, “you had let him run till I got well; I would
have settled that job myself.”
 Bill Hunter and Gallagher robbed a Mormon of a large amount of
greenbacks, which he had been foolish enough to display, in a saloon, in
Virginia. They followed him down the road, on his way to Salt Lake
City, and, it is presumed they murdered him. The money was recognized
by several while the thieves were spending it in town. The Mormon was
never heard of more. All the robbers whose death has been recorded
wore the “Cordon knot” of the band, and nearly all, if not every one of
them, shaved to the Road Agent pattern.
These executions were a fatal blow to the power of the band, and,
henceforth, the was the stronger side. The men of Nevada deserve
the thanks of the people of the Territory for their activity, brave conduct
and indomitable resolution. Without their aid, the Virginians could never
have faced the roughs, or conquered them in their headquarters—their
own town. The men of Summit, especially, and “up the Gulch,”
generally, were always on hand, looking business, and doing it. Night
fell on Virginia; but sleep forsook many an eye; while criminals of all
kinds fled for their lives, from the fatal City of the Vigilantes.
 CHAPTER XXI.
THE DEER LODGE AND HELL GATE SCOUT—
CAPTURE AND EXECUTION OF STEPHEN
MARSHLAND, BILL BUNTON, CYRUS SKINNER,
ALECK CARTER, JOHNNY COOPER, GEORGE
SHEARS, ROBERT ZACHARY AND WILLIAM GRAVES,
(WHISKEY BILL.)

“He dies and makes no sign;

So bad a death argues a monstrous life.”—S .
The operations of the Vigilantes were, at this time, especially, planned
with a judgment, and executed with a vigor that never has been
surpassed by any body, deliberative or executive. On the 15th of January,
1864, a party of twenty-one men left Nevada, under the command of a
citizen whose name and actions remind us of lightning. He was prompt,
brave, irresistible, (so wisely did he lay his plans,) and struck where least
expected.
The squadron rode to Big Hole, the first day, and, while on the road,
detached a patrole to Clarke’s Ranch, in pursuit of Steve Marshland, who
was wounded in the breast, when attacking Forbes’ train. His feet had
been badly frozen, and flight was impossible. Leaving the horses behind,
one of the party (No. 84) went in to arrest him, after knocking four times
without answer, and discovered him in company with a dog, the two
being the sole tenants of the Ranch.
When the Vigilanter entered, he found all quite dark; but taking a wisp
of dried grass, he groped his way to the fire-place, and kindled a light
with a match. The blaze revealed Steve Marshland in bed. “Hands up, if
you please,” was the salute of his captor; and a pointed suggestion from
one of Col. Colt’s pacification agents, caused an instant compliance with
this demand. Seeing that he was sick, he was asked what was the matter,
and replied that he had the chills. This novel “winter sickness” not being
accepted as a sufficient excuse, a further interrogatory elicited the fact
that he had frozen his feet. “No. 84” removed two double-barrelled shot-
guns, a yager and another rifle, from beside the bed, and asked him
where he froze them. He said he was prospecting at the head of
Rattlesnake. “Did you raise the ‘color?’” said his interrogator. “No,”
replied Marshland, “I could not get to the bed-rock, for water.” The party
commenced cooking supper, and invited him to eat with them. He took a
cup of coffee, and was quite merry. After supper, he was informed by the
leader of the nature of the charge against him; viz: the robbery of Forbes’
train. He denied having any wound, and slapped his breast, saying that it
was “as sound as a dollar.” Being asked if he had any objection to being
examined, he said he had not; but the moment his shirt was lifted, the
fatal mark of guilt was visible, in the shape of a recent bullet wound.
The prisoner was told that the evidence was complete, and that he
must die. He then confessed, begging them to spare his life. He had
matches and tobacco in every pocket of his clothes. A pole was stuck
into the ground, and leaned over the corral; a box was placed for him to
stand on, and, all being ready, he once more begged them to save him,
saying “have mercy on me for my youth.” He died almost instantly.
His feet being frozen and partially mortified, the scent attracted the
wolves, and the party had to watch both him and the horses. He was
buried close by. The patrole then started to overtake the main body, and
coming up with them about four miles above Evans’ Ranch, they
reported the execution of Marshland. They had been absent only one
night, leaving the command in the morning, and rejoining them the next
day.
Up to this time, the scouting party had met no one, but marched in
double-file, at the rate of from sixty to seventy miles per day. They kept
double watch over the horses when camped, and lit no fires, being fearful
of attracting notice, and of thus defeating the object of their journey. The
men were divided into four messes, with a cook to each, and every party
carried its own “grub,” (the universal mountain word for “food.”) Each
man had a revolver, and some sported two. A shot-gun or a rifle was also
part of the equipment. The captain rode foremost. A spy was dispatched
to reconnoitre the town, and to meet the party at Cottonwood Creek. He
performed his part satisfactorily.
When within about seventeen miles of Cottonwood, at Smith’s Ranch,
on Deer Lodge Creek, a halt was made about four . . After dark, they
started, and with perfect quiet and caution, rode to within a short distance
of the town. They found that the robbers were gone; but, surrounding
Bill Bunton’s saloon and dwelling house, they proceeded to business.
Bill was in his house, but he refused to open the door. The three men
detailed for his arrest said they wanted to see him. For a long time he
refused. At last, he told a man named Yank, and a young boy, who was
stopping with him, to open the door. The men made him light a candle,
before they would enter. This being done, Bunton’s captors rushed in,
and told him that he was their prisoner. He asked them for what, and was
told to come along, and that he would find out.
A Vigilanter of small stature, but of great courage fastened upon him.
He found, however, that he had caught a Tartar, so another man “piled
on,” (Montanice,) and soon, his arms were fast tied behind him. A guard
was detailed to escort him down to Pete Martin’s house, the rest being
sent for to assist in taking Tex out of the saloon.
A similar scene occurred here, when the robber came out. He was
instantly seized, pinioned, and taken down to keep company with his
friend, Bill Bunton.
Pete Martin was frightened out of a years’ growth, when the
Vigilanters surrounded his house. He was playing cards with some
friends, and for a long time refused to come out; but finding that, as he
said, “he wasn’t charged with nothing,” he ascertained what was wanted,
and then returned to finish his game. As the exigencies of the times had
rendered a little hanging necessary in that neighborhood, he felt small
concern about the fate of Bunton and Tex, who were of a dangerous
religion.
The party slept and breakfasted at the house. In the morning, a
stranger who was conversing with Bunton, to whom he was unknown,
informed the Vigilantes that the culprit had said that “he would ‘get’ one
of the —— yet.” On being searched, a Derringer was found in his vest
pocket. As he had been carefully overhauled the night before, it was
evident that some sympathizer had furnished him with the weapon. He
refused to confess anything, even his complicity in the robbery of the
coach, where he played “pigeon.” Red had testified that he shared the
money. He also denied killing Jack Thomas’ cattle; but Red had
confessed that he himself was the butcher, and that he had been hired by
Bunton, who called him a coward, when he spoke about the skins lying
round the house, as being likely to be identified.
There being no possible doubt of his criminality, the vote on his case
was taken with the uplifted hand, and resulted in a unanimous verdict of
guilty.
The captain then told him that he was to be hanged, and that if he had
any business to attend to, he had better get some one to do it. He gave his
gold watch to his partner, Cooke, and his other property to pay his debts.
He had won his interest in the saloon some fourteen days before, by
gambling it from its owner.
Tex was taken to another house, and was separately tried. After a
patient investigation, the robber was cleared—the evidence not being
sufficient to convict him. Had the Vigilantes held him in custody, for a
time, Tex would have experienced a difficulty in his breathing, that
would have proved quickly fatal; for testimony in abundance was
afterward obtained, proving conclusively that he was a highwayman and
common thief. He made all sail for Kootenai, and there boasted that he
would shoot any Vigilanter he could set eyes on.
About two hundred and fifty feet to the left-front of Pete Martin’s
house, at the gate of Louis Demorest’s corral, there were two upright
posts, and a cross-beam, which looked quite natural, and appeared as if
they had been made for Bunton.
The prisoner was taken out, and put up on a board supported by two
boxes. He was very particular about the exact situation of the knot, and
asked if he could not jump off, himself. Being told that he could, if he
wished, he said that he didn’t care for hanging, any more than he did for
taking a drink of water; but he should like to have his neck broken. He
seemed quite satisfied when his request was granted. He continued to
deny his guilt to the very last moment of his life, repeating the pass-word
of the gang “I am innocent.” Two men were stationed at the board—one
at each end—and, all being ready, he was asked if he had anything to
say, or any request to make. He said, “No; all I want is a mountain three
hundred feet high, to jump off.” He said he would give the time—“one,”
“two,” “three.” At the word “ready,” the men stationed at the plank
prepared to pull it from under him, if he should fail to jump; but he gave
the signal, as he promised, and adding, “here goes it,” he leaped into the
embrace of death. The cessation of muscular contraction was almost
instantaneous, and his death was accompanied by scarcely a perceptible
struggle.
The corral keepers’ wife insisted, in terms more energetic than polite,
that her husband should get the poles cut down. With this request he was
forced to comply, as soon as the corpse of the Road Agent was removed
for burial.
The parties knew that the robbers were to be found at Hell Gate, which
was so named, because it was the road which the Indians took when on
the war-path, and intent on scalping and other pleasant little amusements,
in the line of ravishing, plundering, fire-raising, etc., for the exhibition of
which genteel proclivities, the Eastern folks recommend a national
donation of blankets and supplies, to keep the thing up. As independent
and well educated robbers, however sedulously reared to the business,
from childhood, it must be admitted that, in case anything is lacking,
they at once proceed to supply the deficiency from the pilgrims’ trains,
and from settlers’ homesteads. If the Indians were left to the Vigilantes
of Montana, they would contract to change their habits, at small cost; but
an agency is too fat a thing for pet employees, and, consequently a treaty
is entered into, the only substantial adjunct of which is the quantity of
presents which the Indians believe they have frightened out of the white
men. Probably, in a century or so, they will see that our view is correct.
On their road from Cottonwood to Hell Gate, the troop was
accompanied by Jemmy Allen, towards whose Ranch they were directing
their steps. The weather was anything but pleasant for travelling, the
quantity of snow making it laborious work for the Vigilantes, and the
cold was very hard to endure, without shelter. At the crossing of Deer
Lodge Creek, the ice gave way, and broke through with the party. It was
pitch dark at the time, and much difficulty was experienced in getting out
both men and horses. One cavalier was nearly drowned; but a lariet
being put round the horses’ neck, it was safely dragged out. The rider
scrambled to the bank, somehow or other—memory furnishes the result
only, not the detail—and jumping on to the “animal,” he rode, on a keen
run, to the Ranch, which was some four or five miles ahead.
The remainder of the cavalcade travelled on more leisurely, arriving
there about 11 . ., and having recruited a little, they wrapped
themselves in blankets and slumber without delay.
Next morning, in company with Charley Eaton, who was acquainted
with the country and with the folks around Hell Gate, they started for
that locality, and after riding fifteen or sixteen miles through snow,
varying in depth from two to three feet, they camped for the night. The
horses being used to foraging, pawed for their food.
 The next morning the party crossed the bridge, and rode to the
workmen’s quarters, on the Mullan Wagon Road, where, calling a halt,
they stopped all night. Accidents will happen in the best regulated
families, and in a winter scout in the wilds of Montana, casualties must
be expected as a matter of course. The best mountaineer is the man who
most quickly and effectually repairs damages, or finds a substitute for the
missing article. While driving the ponies into camp, one of them put his
foot into a hole and broke his leg. As there was no chance to attend to
him, he was at once shot. Another cayuse, by a similar accident, stripped
all the skin off his hind legs, from the hough down. He was turned loose
to await the return of the expedition.
At daylight, the troop were in their saddles, and pushing as rapidly as
possible for the village. On arriving within six miles of the place, the
command halted on the bank of a small creek, till after dark, to avoid
being seen on the road. As soon as night threw her mantle over the scene,
they continued their journey, till within two hundred yards of Hell Gate,
and there, dismounting, they tied their horses.
Their scout had gone ahead to reconnoitre, and, returning to the
rendezvous, he informed the captain of the exact position of affairs.
Coming through the town on a tight run, they mistook the houses; but,
discovering their error, they soon returned, and surrounding Skinner’s
saloon, the owner, who was standing at the door, was ordered to throw
up his hands. His woman (Nelly) did not appear to be pleased at the
command, and observed that they must have learned that from the
Bannack stage folks.
Skinner was taken and bound immediately. Some of the men went for
Aleck Carter, who was in Miller’s, the next house. Dan. Harding opened
the door, and seeing Carter, said, “Aleck, is that you?” to which the Road
Agent promptly replied “yes.” The men leveled their pieces at him, and
the leader, going over to the lounge on which he was lying, rather drunk,
took his pistol from him and bound him, before he was thoroughly
aroused. When he came to himself, he said, “this is tight papers, ain’t it,
boys?” He then asked for a smoke, which being given to him, he
inquired for the news. On hearing of the hanging of the blood-stained
miscreants whose doom has been recorded in these pages, he said, “all
right; not an innocent man hung yet.”
He was marched down, under guard, to Higgins’ store, where he and
Skinner were tried, the examination lasting about three hours. Skinner’s
woman came down, bent on interference in his behalf. The lady was sent
home with a guard, who found Johnny Cooper lying wounded in the
house. He had been shot in three places, by Carter, whom he had accused
of stealing his pistol. He was, of course, instantly secured.
Some of the guard happening to remark that Johnny seemed to be
suffering “pretty bad,” the lady expressed a conviction, with much force
and directness, that “by ——, there were two outside suffering a ——
sight worse;” (meaning Skinner and Aleck Carter.)
Cooper was one of the lieutenants of the gang. He was a splendid
horseman, and a man named President, who was present at his
apprehension, knew him well on the “other side.” He had murdered a
man, and being arrested, was on his way to the court, when he suddenly
broke from his captors, leaped with a bound on to a horse standing ready,
and was off like a bird. Though at least one hundred shots were sent after
him, he escaped uninjured, and got clear away.
While Aleck Carter was on trial, he confessed that the two mules of
which Nicholas Tbalt was in charge, when shot by Ives, were at Irwin’s
Ranch, at Big Hole, and that he, Irwin and Ives had brought them there.
It will be remembered that, besides robbing the coach, Aleck was
accessory both before and after the fact of Tbalt’s murder. This was
proved. That he was a principal in its perpetration is more than likely. He
denied all participation in the murder, but confessed, generally speaking,
much in the same style as others had done.
Skinner also refused to confess any of his crimes. “Dead men tell no
tales” was his verdict, when planning the murder of Magruder, and he it
was, who ingratiated himself into the favor of Page, Romaine and others,
and prompted them to the deed, so that Magruder thought his murderers
were his friends, and went on his last journey without suspicion. He said
he could have saved him, if he had liked; but he added that he “would
have seen him in —— first.” He wouldn’t leave himself open to the
vengeance of the band. He was a hardened, merciless and brutal fiend.
The same night a detachment of eight men went in pursuit of Bob
Zachary, and coming up to Barney O’Keefe’s, that gentleman appeared
in the uniform of a Georgia major, minus the spurs and shirt collar, and
plus a flannel blouse. He mistook the party for Road Agents, and
appeared to think his time had come. He ejaculated, with visible horror,
“Don’t shoot, gentlemen; I’m Barney O’Keefe.” It is useless to say that
no harm was done to the “Baron,” as he is called. There are worse men
living in all countries than Barney, who is a good soul in his own way,
and hospitable in his nature. Finding that Bob Zachary was inside, one of
the party entered, and, as he sat up in bed, threw himself upon him, and
pushed him backwards. He had a pistol and a knife. He was taken to Hell
Gate shortly after his capture. The fate of his friends was made known to
him, and vouched for by a repetition of the signs, grips, pass-words, etc.
On seeing this, he turned pale; but he never made any confession of
guilt. He was the one of the stage robbers who actually took the money
from Southmayde. Like all the rest, he repeated the pass-word of the
gang, “I am innocent.”
On the road back the guard had wormed out of Barney that a stranger
was stopping at Van Dorn’s, in the Bitter Root valley. “No. 84,” who was
leading the party who captured Shears, asked, “Does Van live here?”
“Yes,” said the man himself. “Is George Shears in your house?” asked
84. “Yes,” said Van. “Where is he?” “In the next room.” “Any objection
to our going in?” The man replied by opening the door of the room, on
which George became visible, knife in hand. He gave himself up quietly,
and seemed so utterly indifferent to death, that he perfectly astonished
his captors. Taking a walk with 84, he pointed out to him the stolen
horses in the corral, and confessed his guilt, as a man would speak of the
weather. He said, “I knew I should have to go up, some time; but I
thought I could run another season.” When informed of his doom, he
appeared perfectly satisfied. On being taken into the barn, where a rope
was thrown over a beam, he was asked to walk up a ladder, to save
trouble about procuring a drop. He at once complied, addressing his
captors in the following unique phraseology: “Gentlemen, I am not used
to this business, never having been hung before. Shall I jump off or slide
off?” Being told to jump off, he said “all right; good-bye,” and leaped
into the air, with as much sang froid as if bathing.
The drop was long and the rope tender. It slowly untwisted, and Shears
hung, finally, by a single strand. George’s parting question was, for a
long time, a by-word among the Vigilantes.
A company of three, headed by the “old man,” started off to Fort
Owen, in the Bitter Root Valley, in pursuit of Whiskey Bill, (Bill Graves,
the coach robber.) This worthy was armed and on the look out for his
captors; but, it seems, he had become partially snow-blind by long
gazing. At all events, he did not see the party with sufficient distinctness
to ascertain who they were, until the “old man” jumped from his horses
and covered him with his revolver. He gave up, though he had repeatedly
sworn that he would shoot any —— Vigilanter who would come his
way. His guilt was notorious throughout all the country, and his capture
was merely a preliminary to his execution. The men took him away from
the Fort, in deference to the prejudices of the Indians, who would have
felt no desire to live near where a man had been hanged. Graves made no
confession. He was what is called in the mountains a “bull-head,” and
was a sulky, dangerous savage. Being tied up to a limb, the difficulty was
to make a “drop;” but the ingenuity of the leader was equal to the
emergency. One of the men mounted his horse; Graves was lifted up
behind him, and, all being ready, “Good-bye, Bill,” said the front
horseman, driving his huge rowels into the horse’s flanks, as he spoke.
The animal made a plunging bound of twelve feet, and Bill Graves swept
from his seat by the fatal noose and lariet, swung lifeless. His neck was
broken by the shock.
The different parties rendezvoused at Hell Gate, and a company of
eight men were dispatched to the Pen de’Oreille reserve, to get Johnny
Cooper’s horses, six or seven in number. They were poor in condition
and were nearly all sold to pay the debts which the Road Agent had
incurred in the country round about the village. The remainder were
brought to Nevada. It seems that Aleck Carter and Cooper were about to
start for Kootenai, on the previous day, and that their journey was
prevented only by their quarrel about the pistol, which Cooper charged
Aleck with stealing, and which resulted in the wounding of Cooper, the
delay of their journey, and, in fact, in their execution. A pack animal,
laden with their baggage and provisions, carried $130 worth of goods.
These were taken for the use of the expedition; but on a representation
made by Higgins that he had supplied them to Carter to get rid of him,
but that he had received nothing for them, they were paid for, on the spot
by the Vigilantes.
There had been a reign of terror in Hell Gate. The robbers did as they
pleased, took what they chose. A Colt’s revolver was the instrument ever
ready to enforce the transfer. Brown, a Frenchman, living in the
neighborhood, stated to the Vigilantes, that he was glad to see them, for
that the robbers used to ride his stock whenever they pleased, and that
they always retained possession of such steeds as they especially fancied.
Cooper had determined to marry his daughter, a pretty half-breed girl,
and then, after getting all that he could lay hands on, he intended to turn
the old man adrift. He used to go to his intended father-in-law, and
inform him that he wanted another of those pretty pocket pieces, ($20
gold pieces,) and he always obtained what he asked; for death would
have been the instant penalty of refusal. Other parties had supplied
Cooper and Carter with money, pistols and whatever else they asked, for
the same potent and unanswerable reasons. Any demand for payment
was met by a threat to shoot the creditor.
At the conclusion of the trials of Carter and Skinner, a vote was taken
by stepping to the opposite sides of the room; but the verdict of guilty,
and a judgment of death to the culprits, were unanimously rendered.
Cooper was tried separately, and interrogated by Mr. President
concerning his conduct on the “other side.” He denied the whole thing;
but this gentleman’s testimony, the confession of Red, and the witness of
the inhabitants rendered a conviction and sentence of death inevitable.
Carter and Skinner were taken to Higgins’ corral and executed by
torchlight, shortly after midnight. Two poles were planted, leaning over
the corral fence; to these the ropes were tied, and store-boxes served for
“drops.”
On the road to the gallows, Cyrus Skinner broke suddenly from the
guard, and ran off, shouting, “shoot! shoot!” His captors were too old
hands to be thus baffled. They instantly secured him. He again tried the
trick, when on the box; but he was quickly put up and held there till the
rope was adjusted. This being finished, he was informed that he could
jump whenever he pleased. Aleck seemed ashamed of Skinner’s attempt
to escape, which the latter explained by saying that he “was not born to
be hanged”—a trifling error.
While on the stand, one of the men asked Carter to confess his share in
the murder of the Dutchman; but he burst forth with a volley of oaths,
saying, “If I had my hands free, you ——, I’d make you take that back.”
As Skinner was talking by his side, Aleck was ordered to keep quiet.
“Well then, let’s have a smoke,” said he. His request being granted, he
became more pacific in demeanor. The criminals faces being covered
with handkerchiefs, they were launched into eternity, with the pass-word
of the gang on their lips, “I am innocent.” Both died easily and at once.
The people had, of their own accord, made all the preparations for their
burial.
Immediately after the execution, the parties were detailed and
dispatched after Zachary, Graves and Shears. The death of the last two
has been recorded.
 The squad that arrested Zachary returned between seven and eight
o’clock, that morning. He was at once tried, found guilty, and sentenced
to death. By his direction, a letter was written to his mother, in which he
warned his brothers and sisters to avoid drinking whiskey, card playing
and bad company, which, he said, had brought him to the gallows.
Zachary once laid in wait for Pete Daly, and snapped two caps at him;
but, fortunately, the weapon would not go off.
Being brought to the same spot as that on which Skinner and Carter
were hanged, he commenced praying to God to forgive the Vigilantes for
what they were doing, for it was a pretty good way to clear the country
of Road Agents. He died at once, without any apparent fear or pain.
Johnny Cooper was hauled down on a sleigh, by hand, owing to his
leg being wounded, and was placed on the same box that Skinner had
stood upon. He asked for his pipe, saying he wanted a good smoke, and
he enjoyed it very much. A letter had been written to his parents, in York
State. Cooper dodged the noose for a time, but being told to keep his
head straight, he submitted. He died without a struggle.
During the trial of the men, the people had made Cooper’s coffin, and
dug his grave, Zachary was buried by the Vigilantes. The other
malefactor, the citizens knew better, and hated worse.
Skinner left all his property to Higgins, the store-keeper, from whom
he had received all his stock, on credit. Aleck had nothing but his horse,
his accoutrements and his appointments.
Their dread mission of retribution being accomplished, the captain
ordered everything to be made ready for their long homeward march, and
in due time they arrived at Cottonwood, where they found that X had
settled everything relating to Bunton’s affairs. At Big Hole, they made
search for Irwin; but he had fled, and has never been taken. Tired and
worn, the command reached Nevada, and received the congratulations
and thanks of all good men. Like Joshua’s army, though they had been
rewarded with success, yet often in that journey over their cold and
trackless waste, the setting sun had seen them
“Faint, yet pursuing.”