bullets enough in his body to make a pig of lead.
He was armed to the teeth. He closed with the
remark that he was Mr. —— of Cariboo—a
celebrated name whereat we shook in our shoes.
I would publish the name, but for the suspicion that
he might come and carve me. He finally inquired
if Brown still thirsted for blood. Brown turned
the thing over in his mind a moment, and then—asked
him to supper.
With the permission of the reader, I will group together,
in the next chapter, some samples of life in our small
mountain village in the old days of desperadoism.
I was there at the time. The reader will observe
peculiarities in our official society; and he will
observe also, an instance of how, in new countries,
murders breed murders.
An extract or two from the newspapers of the day will
furnish a photograph that can need no embellishment:
Fatal shooting affray.—An
affray occurred, last evening, in a billiard
saloon on C street, between Deputy Marshal Jack Williams
and Wm. Brown, which resulted in the immediate
death of the latter. There had been some
difficulty between the parties for several months.
An inquest was
immediately held, and the following testimony
adduced:
Officer GEO. Birdsall, sworn,
says:—I was told Wm. Brown was drunk and
was looking for Jack Williams; so soon as I heard that
I started for the parties to prevent a collision;
went into the billiard saloon; saw Billy Brown
running around, saying if anybody had anything
against him to show cause; he was talking in a boisterous
manner, and officer Perry took him to the other
end of the room to talk to him; Brown came back
to me; remarked to me that he thought he was
as good as anybody, and knew how to take care of himself;
he passed by me and went to the bar; don’t
know whether he drank or not; Williams was at
the end of the billiard-table, next to the stairway;
Brown, after going to the bar, came back and said he
was as good as any man in the world; he had
then walked out to the end of the first billiard-table
from the bar; I moved closer to them, supposing
there would be a fight; as Brown drew his pistol I
caught hold of it; he had fired one shot at
Williams; don’t know the effect of it;
caught hold of him with one hand, and took hold of
the pistol and turned it up; think he fired
once after I caught hold of the pistol; I wrenched
the pistol from him; walked to the end of the billiard-table
and told a party that I had Brown’s pistol, and
to stop shooting; I think four shots were fired
in all; after walking out, Mr. Foster remarked
that Brown was shot dead.
Oh, there was no excitement about it—he
merely “remarked” the small circumstance!
Four months later the following item appeared in the
same paper (the Enterprise). In this item the
name of one of the city officers above referred to
(Deputy Marshal Jack Williams) occurs again:
