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.
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 friend, 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,