CHAPTER XII.
In the meantime, Charley Forbes’ trial went on. An effort was made to save Charley on account of his good looks and education, by producing a fully loaded pistol, which they proved (?) was his. It was, however, Buck Stinson’s, and had been “set right” by Gallagher. The miners had got weary, and many had wandered off, when the question was put; but his own masterly appeal, which was one of the finest efforts of eloquence ever made in the mountains, saved him.
Forbes was a splendid looking fellow—straight as a ramrod; handsome, brave and agile as a cat, in his movements. His friends believed that he excelled Plummer in quickness and dexterity at handling his revolver. He had the scabbard sewn to the belt, and wore the buckle always exactly in front, so that his hand might grasp the butt, with the forefinger on the trigger and the thumb on the cock, with perfect certainty, whenever it was needed, which was pretty often.
Charley told a gentleman of the highest respectability that he killed Dillingham, and he used to laugh at the “softness” of the miners who acquitted him. He moreover warned the gentleman mentioned that he would be attacked on his road to Salt Lake; but the citizen was no way scary, and said, “You can’t do it, Charley; your boys are scattered and we are together, and we shall give you ——, if you try it.” The party made a sixty mile drive the first day, and thus escaped molestation. Charley had corresponded with the press, some articles on the state and prospects of the Territory having appeared in the California papers, and were very well written.
Charley was acquitted by a nearly unanimous vote. Judge Smith burst into tears, fell on his neck and kissed him, exclaiming, “My boy! my boy!” Hundreds pressed roundhim, shaking hands and cheering, till it seemed to strike them all at once, that there were two men to hang, which was even more exciting, and the crowd “broke” for the “jail.”
A wagon was drawn up by the people to the door, in which the criminals were to ride to the gallows. They were then ordered to get into the wagon, which they did, several of their friends climbing in with them.
At this juncture, Judge Smith was called for, and then, amidst tremendous excitement and confusion; Haze Lyons crying and imploring mercy; a number of ladies, much affected, begged earnestly to “Save the poor young boys’ lives.” The ladies admit the crying; but declare that they wept in the interest of fair play. One of them saw Forbes kill Dillingham, and felt that it was popular murder to hang Stinson and Lyons, and let off the chief desperado, because he was good looking. She had furnished the sheet with which the dead body was covered.
We cannot blame the gentle hearted creatures; but we deprecate the practice of admitting the ladies to such places. They are out of their path. Such sights are unfit for them to behold, and in rough and masculine business of every kind, women should bear no part. It unsexes them and destroys the most lovely parts of their character. A woman is a queen in her own home; but we neither want her as a blacksmith, a plough-woman, a soldier, a lawyer, a doctor, nor in any such professions or handicraft. As sisters, mothers, nurses, friends, sweethearts and wives, they are the salt of the earth, the sheet anchor of society, and the humanizing and purifying element in humanity. As such, they cannot be too much respected, loved and protected. But from Blue Stockings, Bloomers, and strong-minded she-males, generally, “Good Lord, deliver us.”
A letter (written by other parties to suit the occasion) was produced, and a gentleman—a friend of Lyons—asked that “The letter which Haze had written to his mother, might be read.” This was done, amid cries of “Read the letter,” “—— the letter;” while others who saw how it would turn out, shouted, “Give him a horse and let him go to his mother.” A vote was taken again, after it had all been settled,as before mentioned—the first time by ayes and noes. Both parties claimed the victory. The second party was arranged so that the party for hanging should go up-hill, and the party for clearing should go down-hill. The down-hill men claimed that the prisoners were acquitted; but the up-hills would not give way. All this time, confusion confounded reigned around the wagon. The third vote was differently managed. Two pairs of men were chosen. Between one pair passed those who were for carrying the sentence into execution, and between the other pair marched those who were for setting them at liberty. The latter party ingeniously increased their votes by the simple but effectual expedient of passing through several times, and finally, an honest Irish miner, who was not so weak-kneed as the rest, shouted out, “Be ——, there’s a bloody naygur voted three times.” The descendant of Ham broke for the willows at top speed, on hearing this announcement. This vote settled the question, and Gallagher, pistol in hand, shouted, “Let them go, they’re cleared.” Amidst a thousand confused cries of, “Give the murderers a horse,” “Let them go,” “Hurrah!” etc., one of the men, seeing a horse with an Indian saddle, belonging to a Blackfoot squaw, seized it, and mounting both on the same animal, the assassins rode at a gallop out of the gulch. One of the guard remarked to another—pointing at the same time to the gallows—“There is a monument of disappointed Justice.”
While all this miserable farce was being enacted, the poor victim of the pardoned murderers lay stark and stiff on a gambling table, in a brush wakiup, in the gulch. Judge Smith came to X, and asked if men enough could not be found to bury Dillingham. X said there were plenty, and, obtaining a wagon, they put the body into a coffin, and started up the “Branch,” towards the present graveyard on Cemetery Hill, where the first grave was opened in Virginia, to receive the body of the murdered man. As the party proceeded, a man said to Judge Smith; “Only for my dear wife and daughter, the poor fellows would have been hanged.” A citizen, seeing that the so-called ladies had not a tear to shed for theVICTIM, promptly answered, “I take notice that your dear wife and daughter have no tears forpoor Dillingham; but only for two murderers.” “Oh,” said the husband, “I cried for Dillingham.” “Darned well you thought of it,” replied the mountaineer. A party of eight or ten were around the grave, when one asked who would perform the burial service. Some one said, “Judge, you have been doing the talking for the last three days, and you had better pray.” The individual addressed knelt down and made a long and appropriate prayer; but it must be stated that he was so intoxicated that kneeling, was, at least, as much a convenience as it was a necessity. Some men never “experience religion” unless they are drunk. They pass through the convivial and the narrative stages, into the garrulous, from which they sail into the religious, and are deeply affected. The scene closes with the lachrymose or weeping development, ending in pig like slumbers. Any one thus moved by liquor is not reliable.