Slade was captured, once, by a party of men who intended to lynch him.  They disarmed him, and shut him up in a strong log-house, and placed a guard over him.  He prevailed on his captors to send for his wife, so that he might have a last interview with her.  She was a brave, loving, spirited woman.  She jumped on a horse and rode for life and death.  When she arrived they let her in without searching her, and before the door could be closed she whipped out a couple of revolvers, and she and her lord marched forth defying the party.  And then, under a brisk fire, they mounted double and galloped away unharmed!

In the fulness of time Slade’s myrmidons captured his ancient enemy Jules, whom they found in a well-chosen hiding-place in the remote fastnesses of the mountains, gaining a precarious livelihood with his rifle.  They brought him to Rocky Ridge, bound hand and foot, and deposited him in the middle of the cattle-yard with his back against a post.  It is said that the pleasure that lit Slade’s face when he heard of it was something fearful to contemplate.  He examined his enemy to see that he was securely tied, and then went to bed, content to wait till morning before enjoying the luxury of killing him.  Jules spent the night in the cattle-yard, and it is a region where warm nights are never known.  In the morning Slade practised on him with his revolver, nipping the flesh here and there, and occasionally clipping off a finger, while Jules begged him to kill him outright and put him out of his misery.  Finally Slade reloaded, and walking up close to his victim, made some characteristic remarks and then dispatched him.  The body lay there half a day, nobody venturing to touch it without orders, and then Slade detailed a party and assisted at the burial himself.  But he first cut off the dead man’s ears and put them in his vest pocket, where he carried them for some time with great satisfaction.  That is the story as I have frequently heard it told and seen it in print in California newspapers.  It is doubtless correct in all essential particulars.

In due time we rattled up to a stage-station, and sat down to breakfast with a half-savage, half-civilized company of armed and bearded mountaineers, ranchmen and station employees.  The most gentlemanly-appearing, quiet and affable officer we had yet found along the road in the Overland Company’s service was the person who sat at the head of the table, at my elbow.  Never youth stared and shivered as I did when I heard them call him Slade!

Here was romance, and I sitting face to face with it!—­looking upon it —­touching it—­hobnobbing with it, as it were!  Here, right by my side, was the actual ogre who, in fights and brawls and various ways, had taken the lives of twenty-six human beings, or all men lied about him!  I suppose I was the proudest stripling that ever traveled to see strange lands and wonderful people.